


Isilmë: The Light From the East

by Silvan Second Breakfast (buccisbarrettes)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence - The Lord of the Rings, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Elves, F/M, Fellowship of the Ring, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Post-Lord of the Rings, Pre-Lord of The Rings, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Strangers to Lovers, Tenth Walker, The Silmarillion References, Tolkien Legendarium, platontic aragorn x oc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25439089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buccisbarrettes/pseuds/Silvan%20Second%20Breakfast
Summary: Gandalf had gone into the eastern reaches of Middle-Earth after hearing a rumour concerning the whereabouts of the two Blue Wizards, only to find a girl with hair like moonlight, dressed in blue robes with a strange necklace. 10th walker (Legolas x OC) Don't like, don't read
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Original Female Character(s), Legolas Greenleaf & Original Female Character(s), Legolas Greenleaf/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 93





	1. Prologue/Chapter 1: Imladris

**Author's Note:**

> All italicized dialogue will be Éla using sign language and/or mouthing

# Prologue

The Grey Wizard urged the pony pulling his cart forward. The creature whinnied in protest as it strained against the added weight in the cart; it was not accustomed to pulling the weight of two. The girl slept soundly, nestled among the wizards belongings. 

* * *

She had been living in the north-east of the continent, in the region of Rhûn, south of the Iron Hills and north of Mordor. Her village had been recently attacked by orcs. Gandalf cursed his timing, as the damage had already been done when he had arrived.

The circumstances he had found her in were nothing short of horrific. The entire village was razed to the ground. The wooden houses were no more than charred remains, including the unlucky inhabitants who could not escape. The stench of death and villainy choked the air even in the aftermath of the destruction. 

Gandalf walked through the remnants of the small village, coming upon the only house left standing. Although its once sturdy walls were charred and cracked and marred by ash and soot, they were all of them intact, as well as the roof. 

Warily, Gandalf peered through the broken front window before entering through the broken door. 

In the middle of the kitchen by the hearth lay two bodies. The first, on top of the other was an older woman, her long raven hair streaked with grey, her once green dress stained black with blood. Her back faced the wizard as she clutched onto the person beneath her, who was lying on their stomach and clad in a sea blue cloak. Their hood was pulled over their face, obscuring their features from the Wizard’s sight. The cruel blade of an orc pierced through the woman and into the person below her. 

Slowly, and as gently as he could manage, Gandalf moved the body of the woman off of the person in blue. The blade confirmed Gandalf’s suspicions, having pierced the second person, although not as deep as the first. The dark red stain on the back of their blue robes looked almost like a particularly bad wine stain. Focusing on their back, Gandalf saw the faint movement of breath. He removed the blue hood to find the face of a young woman. 

Gandalf looked between the two women, noting the resemblance in their shared tan complexion and delicate features. Mother and daughter. But it was their difference in hair color that clearly set them apart. The daughter’s hair was a brilliant white. Even among the dust and ash that clung to it, its luminescent sheen gave an otherworldly glow. 

As he looked more closely, the glowing white light that emanated from the girl was not from her hair, but from the pendant of the necklace that was tangled in it. Gandalf lightly brushed his index finger over the white crystal, feeling the familiar hum of an old magic. 

* * *

The wizard knew he had to report back to the leader of his order of his findings, but first he had to get the child to a healer. He journeyed west to the last Homely House to call in the aid of his old friend and council member. 

He was not completely sure that his hunch about what befell his more distant Istari brethren was true, but the girl’s blue robes and pendant coupled with her strange appearance confirmed his suspicions enough for him to present her to the leader of his order. At least, after he had her properly healed. 

  
  


# Chapter 1: Imladris

Éla woke to the sound of birds chirping and the smell of a spring breeze. Slowly, she bade her heavy eyelids to open. It took considerable effort, as she felt as though she were made of stone, the fatigue in her body pervasive and bone-deep. She barely had the strength to lift her neck and look around the room in which she lay. Éla inhaled deeply, pushing the breath out through her lips, focusing on the rise and fall of her chest and stomach with the action. 

“You have awoken,” said a gentle voice to her right. 

The face of a woman soon appeared in Éla’s field of vision as she moved to stand above her. She was gorgeous; her fair skin seemed to glow from within, and her brown-black hair that fell in gentle waves past her shoulders. Her eyes were a deep blue that seemed to hold both great wisdom and innocence. 

“I am Arwen, you are in the house of my father Lord Elrond at Imladris, known as Rivendell,” her smooth voice stated in Westron. Éla heard the slightest hint of an accent, though she could not place what kind. She blinked in thought, Imladris… Rivendell… 

She sat bolt upright in bed, the heaviness of her body forgotten by the shock that washed over her like ice water.

Éla was far from home, more than half of the world away. 

Sensing the alarm of the injured woman Arwen took a step closer,

“There is no need to fear, you are safe.” she said kindly, seeing the wildness of a cornered animal in the strange mortal’s eyes. 

Arwen had not questioned her father as to who their guest was, knowing that in time he would reveal her identity. Though the elleth had many questions. She had never seen any mortal like the one that sat before her.

Her skin was a deep bronze colour, the darkest shade Arwen had ever seen in a long while, even more tanned than Estel after a summer in the wilds. The woman’s features were delicate, with large amber eyes, prominent cheekbones, a pointed chin, upturned nose and petal like lips. 

But it was the mortal’s hair that truly made her stand out among all. Her hair was the brightest shade of white that the Evanstar had seen. Even among the fair haired elves it was rare. Usually they were light platinum blondes or silver strands, but this reminded Arwen of pure moonlight. The kind that you only saw from a full moon on a clear night. 

“May I know your name?” Arwen asked.

Upon Arwen’s question Éla was shaken from her panicked thoughts. The white haired woman mouthed a response, but no sound accompanied the words.

“Éla?” Arwen echoed. She nodded. 

“Are you unable to speak Éla?” Arwen asked. 

She nodded in response once more.

The tiniest of frowns appeared on Arwen’s fair face, 

“Have you always been unable to speak or is this part of your injuries?”

 _“Always_ ,” Éla mouthed back.

Arwen hummed in understanding. 

“Worry not, if you enunciate clearly I am sure I will be able to read your lips.”

Éla let out a sigh of relief. She was worried that Arwen did not know Westron sign, as many did not unless they were also deaf or mute like Éla herself.

“Are you in any pain?” Arwen asked.

Éla shook her head, _“No, but my body feels heavy,”_

“As expected,” the elleth responded. “You have been asleep for nine days, since Mithrandir arrived with you.”

The white haired woman cocked her head to the side in confusion. Mithrandir? Who was this person?

“In the common tongue he is referred to as Gandalf the Grey, we elves call him Mithrandir.”

Éla shook her head and gave a shrug, mystified at the name of her companion according to Arwen. 

Then she stopped short once more. 

_“Elf?”_ she mouthed.

“Yes, me and all my kin here are Elves. You have never heard of Elves from where you hail?”

Éla shook her head, _“I know of Elves, but I have never looked upon one until now.”_

Éla had heard tales from her mother and others in her village of the Eldar, the most beautiful and wise creatures to live on the earth, though none travelled as far north-east as her village or anywhere near. At least not in the past century.

“I see.” The elleth gestured to the small tray of food on the nightstand to Éla’s right.

“My father has bade me to see to your wellbeing. I have brought you something to eat.” Arwen gently stood and placed the small silver tray onto Éla’s lap. The elleth had shifted slightly to accommodate the load. 

“Are you able to feed yourself?” Arwen asked, a hint of concern within her tone. 

Éla nodded, slowly lifting the spoon and scooping up some of the soup that was in the bowl on the tray. Bit by bit, she ate what was given to her. 

Arwen sat once again in the white wooden chair near the bed and spoke to Éla of her arrival in Imladris. 

“You had the remnants of a sword wound when you arrived. You were already unconscious, but our healers stitched up the remains and have told me that you are healing excellently, they say there may not even be a scar.”

Éla was not surprised, she had always had fairly good health, though she had never been stabbed before to know if she would usually scar or not.

“Mithrandir has left, but he had promised he shall soon return. Until then, you are most welcome to stay here in my father’s house.” Arwen said, placing her hand gently on Éla’s hand that was unoccupied by a spoon, in a comforting manner, her dark blue gaze lowered in pity. 

“He had spoken to me and my father briefly about what befell your village, I am truly sorry for your loss Éla.”

She set her spoon down on the tray with an audible clank. The once delicious vegetable soup felt like ash in her mouth.

Ash... and flame, and blood. 

Memories of flame nipped at the corners of her consciousness, the screams of her neighbours heard somewhere in the distance. Éla tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. Her vision was blurred by tears that left hot streaks down her face and fell onto the soft blanket that covered her. 

She vaguely registered the sound of Arwen’s chair scraping the wooden floor as the elleth stood suddenly. The weight of the tray lifted and was set back onto the bedside table. A soft silken handkerchief dabbed away Éla’s tears.

“You are safe now Éla,” Arwen reassured once more.

Both of them knew that there was nothing that Arwen could say that would take away the pain of Éla’s loss, but Éla was nevertheless glad for the sympathetic company. 

For a time Éla just sat there weeping silently, with Arwen holding her right hand in both of hers.

After Éla had calmed down somewhat, Arwen had offered to help her bathe. The young woman tried to refuse and insisted she could wash by herself, but her argument died quickly once she stumbled when trying to walk. Though she may have healed quickly, Éla’s energy levels were still quite low, and laying in a bed for over a week left some time for adjusting to being back on her feet again. 

Arwen assured the embarrassed woman that there was nothing to be ashamed of, but Éla was still uncomfortable as no one had ever bathed her let alone seen her naked since her mother had when she was a child. At this Arwen seemed surprised. 

“You are unmarried then?” The elleth inquired. 

The woman nodded in response. 

Though there had been some proposals from men in her village, none had captured Éla’s heart. 

“I am sure you will not remain unattached for long Éla, you are very beautiful,” Arwen said sincerely. Éla flushed at the compliment from the gorgeous elleth, though she knew that the elf had no reason to lie. 

Once she and her hair were washed, Arwen presented Éla with the most refined dress she had ever seen. It probably cost more than her entire house back home. It was a light shade of blue, which contrasted her brown skin nicely. It was a simple sheath dress with a relaxed neckline, long bell sleeves and had silver embroidery around the neckline, and around the ends of the sleeves.

“I assume that you like it,” Arwen chuckled watching the fair haired woman gawk at her reflection after slipping on the dress. Éla nodded enthusiastically, smiling at the elleth. 

Arwen then helped Éla comb and braid her long white hair.

“Isilmë,” Arwen said, as she combed through Éla’s hair. “Moonlight,” she clarified, as Éla made eye contact with her through the mirror.

“That is what the healers were calling you while you slept. Indeed, your hair colour is rare even among my kin.”

Éla suppressed the grimace that threatened to cross her face—even among the Elves she would then be an outlier. 

After finishing the intricate braid, Arwen led Éla to the room where she would be staying. Explaining that her father, Lord Elrond was unable to meet Éla as Imladris was preparing for an important event. 


	2. Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éla awaits the return of Mithrandir while becoming acquainted with Imladris and meeting some of its residents and other guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics indicate Éla's use of sign language and/or mouthing.  
> I used several online sources for the Elvish used in this chapter, apologies if it's not entirely accurate.

#  Chapter 2: Waiting Game

A week after her arrival at Imladris, Éla’s injury had healed enough that she was able to leave her room for most of the day. She couldn’t help but feel cooped up after the first few days of her bed rest despite how beautiful her accommodations were. 

Arwen brought Éla out to a small garden filled with trees and shrubbery in full bloom. A small fountain bubbled in the centre of the courtyard which gave a pleasant ambience to the sculpted stone of Lord Elrond’s estate. Arwen then introduced Éla to Bilbo Baggins, a being known as a hobbit. Éla had never encountered nor heard of such a thing in her home village, but she quickly came to like the old man. (As he was in fact more like a man in his manner than a dwarf, despite him being smaller than most dwarves.)

“It is lovely to meet you my lady,” Bilbo smiled with a nod, which Éla returned as warmly.

There was a momentary pause, and then Arwen spoke up.

“Éla is unable to speak, though she does know Westron sign language,” she explained, to which Bilbo waved a hand dismissively. 

“Worry not,’ he reassured. “I’ve learned many a thing over a hundred years and it just so happens that Westron sign is one of them. Though you must forgive me my lady—I am a touch out of practice.”

Éla was delighted that already she had met two people in Imladris who were able to communicate with her with little hindrance. While to her knowledge, she was still the only mute person in her community, her loneliness began to melt away. Perhaps she would not be as isolated here as she was before. 

_ “I am glad for what knowledge you do have,” _ she signed to Bilbo while carefully enunciating.

Arwen smiled at the two, happy that she was able to help her new friend overcome some of her loneliness and grief, if only in this small manner. 

“I must take my leave of you now, for my father requires my assistance. Éla, I shall return to bring you to dinner in the hall tonight if you are feeling well enough.”

Éla smiled up at the elleth, nodding enthusiastically.

_ “Yes of course. Don’t worry about me.” _

“I shall see you then. Enjoy your afternoon,” she offered with a nod. 

With that, Arwen glided gracefully from the garden.

“Would you care for some tea?” Bilbo offered.

Bilbo fetched a small tea tray with all the essentials and as they busied themselves setting up their beverages, he and Éla discussed how they each learned Westron sign language. 

“I learned it from my father,” Bilbo began. “He had a cousin who was deaf, you see, and he thought it would be handy for me to learn it. And rightly so, as one could always benefit from a private conversation,” he remarked with a good natured smirk. “But I also just have a propensity for learning, or, as some may say, sticking my nose in others’ business.”

_ “I learned partially from my mother, who had learned it from the Rangers of the wilds when they visited the markets in the town near our village,”  _ Éla explained. 

“Ah yes, the Rangers from the North know a great many things. You may meet one yet today!” Bilbo said excitedly.

_ “Really?” _

“Yes, a Ranger is a ward of Lord Elrond’s house,” Bilbo responded, before taking a sip from his daisy printed teacup. “If you don’t mind me asking my lady, from where do you hail? Eryn Galen?”

Éla tilted her head to the side in confusion.

“Mirkwood? The Woodland Realm of Elves?” Bilbo continued. 

_ Oh _ , she realized. Bilbo had mistaken her for an Elf.

_ “I am not an Elf, Master Bilbo, I am from a village of Men in the region of Rhûn,” _ Éla clarified.

“Oh, I see. I beg your pardon my lady, I had assumed on account of...” Bilbo trailed off.

_ “My hair?” _ Éla finished.

Bilbo looked a bit embarrassed, with the tips of his ears going a bit red.

_ “I take no offense, if anything I am flattered—the elf-folk are the fairest beings I have ever seen. I had only heard some stories of them, though I had never met any before Lady Arwen or the healers here.” _

With a look of relief, Bilbo replied, “Indeed they are, I am very privileged to have Lord Elrond as an old friend.”

_ “How did you two meet?” _

“Well…”

Bilbo then regaled Éla with the tale of the adventure of his youth; the Quest to the Lonely Mountain. Never before had she heard such a story, and she had a hard time imagining one such as Bilbo to go on such a perilous journey. 

After finishing his tale, Bilbo caught sight of a man walking on the opposite end of the garden and commented, “Ah there he is now—the ranger I had mentioned earlier. Aragorn!” Hearing his name called, the man turned and caught sight of the hobbit before making way over to the bench that he and Éla sat on. 

Aragorn was tall, with sun-kissed skin and shaggy dark brown hair flecked with grey that framed his angular face and dark grey eyes. He wore a worn grey vest over a dark green tunic and black breeches with dark brown riding boots. At his hip was a sword and small dagger. 

He smiled warmly at Bilbo, giving him a hearty handshake. 

“It is good to see you again my friend,” Aragorn’s voice was low and raspy, but not uninviting. 

“Aragorn, this is the Lady Éla, she is a guest of Lord Elrond’s,” Bilbo signed, his small fingers occasionally jumbling the words here or there.

“Lady Éla,” Aragorn signed quickly with a smile, before giving her a short bow, “I hope you are enjoying your stay.” Aragorn’s sign was much more polished than Bilbo’s—she assumed it was because he had more training as a Ranger.

_ “I am, thank you. I am pleased to meet you.” _

“Would you care for a cup of tea my boy?” Bilbo offered, while pouring the now-lukewarm drink into a cup for Aragorn. 

The Ranger smiled in a way that told Éla he was used to such behaviour from Bilbo. The hobbit did exude a grandfatherly energy—you knew you were in for a good story and snacks whenever you saw him.

The trio spent the rest of the afternoon exchanging stories, mainly of Aragorn and Bilbo’s various travels, while Éla indulged her acquaintances’ desire to polish their sign language. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The mildness of spring soon turned into the warmth of summer and Éla’s days in Imladris were mostly spent in wait for Gandalf’s to return. She busied herself by exploring the many gardens and courtyards, learning some Sindarin and Quenya from Arwen, and teaching some interested elleth Westron sign language. Éla also took to reading in Lord Elrond’s library, enjoying tea with Bilbo in the afternoons, and having Aragorn occasionally teach her skills that were useful in the wilds—things like archery, how to identify plants, and what their various medicinal and culinary uses are.

As the weeks wore on, Éla felt her idleness from her familiar routines—maintaining her house, feeding their chickens, watching out for her mother—as a growing unease. Her increasing realization that she was now a homeless orphan made her wish for the return of Gandalf more than ever, hoping to gain some direction and guidance for her new life.

Éla soon took up embroidery to pass the long hours and distract her from her troubled thoughts. She stitched a small design of silver stars onto a blue handkerchief and gave it as a gift to Arwen. Her elleth friend was delighted. Bilbo received a kerchief in a jolly shade of yellow, with a small mountain embroidered in one corner and a red dragon in another. Éla stitched a small sword into two of the corners of a light grey handkerchief for Aragorn. When she presented the Ranger the small cloth, he smiled the most she had ever seen him, except for when he was with Arwen. 

Aragorn soon left Imladris, on what she was told to be an urgent errand on behalf of Gandalf. Éla was beginning to worry that the Wizard would never return, but both Arwen and Bilbo assured her that the Wizard would not leave her in a lurch and that he was just waylaid on his journey. 

Éla had noticed there was an unusual bustle about the Elves of Imladris lately. She often saw the staff whispering among themselves as they prepared many rooms. She remembered that the Lord was hosting some kind of event. When questioned, Arwen said she was not permitted to speak of it yet. 

The first to arrive were a company of Elves. They were quite different than those of Imladris; they wore more earth-tones of green and brown and were more fair-haired. Shortly after, a number of dwarves arrived. Éla had never seen one in person, though her former village was not too far south of the famed Iron Hills. The atmosphere in the dining halls became a bit more tense, as the Woodland elves, she was told, had no wish to be anywhere near the company of dwarves. 

Due to this new tension of the dining hall and the absence of both Arwen and Aragorn, Éla began to take her dinners alone in a small garden, away from the bickering of dwarves and elves. 

Though she was not opposed to meeting new people, Éla had always had trouble making friends due to prejudices about her disability. Her three friends in Imladris were a rare exception. She did not resent being unable to speak, but she did resent that people hardly bothered to get to know her because they thought communicating with her to be an inconvenience. The elves of Imladris, though friendly enough, had not made any indication that they wanted to engage in any conversations with Éla, which she figured was because of the language barrier.

After having her meal and returning her dishes to the dining hall, Éla went for a walk through the larger gardens on her way back to her room. 

The night was clear and the moon was rising in the sky, its waxing figure casting a soft glow onto the plants and fountains. She paused on her walk to stop and admire a rose bush, whose pale pink flowers beckoned her attention. Among the bloom was a small bud on the lower branches, barely opened. She supposed that it received less sunlight, being obscured by the flowers in the higher branches. She moved to sit on the edge of the short stone wall that lined the rose bushes.

“Le suilon,” came a smooth voice at her back.

Startled, Éla turned to face the person behind her. 

An ellon.

“Goheno nin, hiril.” He spoke to her in Sindarin. 

He was tall and fair-skinned, his hair a pale shade of blond that reflected the light of the moon. His eyes were a bright grey, almost silver. He was dressed in a silver, intricately embroidered tunic, and light-grey trousers. Like the rest of him, his tall, tan riding boots were impeccably clean. He was very handsome, even in comparison to the other elves that Éla had seen.

He spoke once more. “Ma istal quet' Eldarin?” he asked, this time speaking in Quenya. His head tilted to the side a bit, perhaps confused as to why Éla had not yet responded. 

Éla fumbled for a moment, before responding slowly.

_ “I am sorry, I do not understand Elvish, nor am I able to speak it,” _ she signed carefully, making sure to match each gesture to the correct phrase as she mouthed it.

“My apologies, my Lady,” the ellon replied in Westron. Polite as he was, Éla could practically see the confused gears turning in his head. 

_ “I am Éla,” _ she offered, nodding her head in greeting.

“I am Legolas of the Woodland Realm,” he said, bowing gracefully. She made a mental note that she should maybe have curtsied in greeting instead. 

“Are you a guest of Lord Elrond’s?” he inquired. 

Éla nodded, hoping he would not question her further. She had no desire to disclose to this handsome stranger that she was a guest of Imladris because she was a homeless orphan. 

Sensing her discomfort, the ellon changed the topic of conversation. 

“May I join you?” he asked, gesturing to where she sat.

_ “Of course,”  _ Éla responded. 

Legolas sat at a polite distance to Éla’s right, turning to admire the same rose bush that she had been. 

“Lord Elrond keeps exquisite gardens,” he remarked, glancing at the roses in bloom before turning back to face Éla.

_ “Yes,”  _ Éla agreed.  _ “That is partly why I prefer to take my meals in the garden rather than in the crowded hall.” _

Legolas hummed in agreeance. “The dwarves do make an awful racket,” he said distantly, his upper lip curling in distaste. 

“Lady Éla,” Legolas began.

__ _ “Yes?” _

“If I may be so bold, how is it that an elleth such as yourself does not speak either of the popular languages of our kin?” 

_ “Because I am not an elleth, Master Legolas,” _ Éla replied, before tucking her hair behind her ear and revealing its rounded edge for good measure.

Once more Legolas looked taken aback. 

“You must forgive me once more, Lady Éla,” he replied. “I had assumed you were, as the Eldar of Imladris call you by the name Isilmë,”

Éla waved her hand dismissively, before mouthing and signing,  _ “There is nothing to forgive; I take no offense. Though I wish that they did bother to learn my real name.”  _

Curiosity with a hint of pity flashed in his bright grey eyes.

__ _ “Though polite,” she elaborated, “the Elves of Imladris, avoid me because I am unable to speak. It is a common treatment from voiced folk; they seem to think communicating with me to be an inconvenience. I am just grateful I’ve managed to make the few friends I have here. Lady Arwen has been more than kind and I have been fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of Master Bilbo Baggins and Master Aragorn.” _

Legolas arched a graceful brow upwards in surprise.

“It is remarkably fortunate, indeed, that you have befriended people of such high esteem,” he commented. There was a slight edge in his voice that made Éla slightly uncomfortable. The way he now regarded her made her feel like a bug at the end of a pin.

_ “I simply make friends with decent folk who cast aside their prejudices about muteness and get to know me.” _ Her lips and sign were more clipped this time, her irritation spilling out into her hands and face. It mattered not how handsome Legolas was, Éla refused to be looked down upon.

Legolas shifted his gaze from Éla to the dining hall in the distance.

“And there are no finer people in Imladris than your friends,” Legolas agreed, an apologetic look in his eye. She acknowledged his apology with a curt nod.

“But I must beg your pardon, Lady Éla, on behalf of my kin. I am certain they mean no disrespect by their distance. It is simply rare that any of the race of men are guests in the elven realms.”

He turned to face her, once more appraising her. Éla shrunk slightly under his gaze, fiddling absently with the bracelet on her wrist. The directness and intensity of the ellon’s gaze highlighted his regal features and also gave him a dangerous undercurrent.  _ He must be a warrior _ , she thought. Perhaps she had misread his earlier comment. He may just be straight-forward, like Aragorn. 

They sat in silence, each party looking at the other. 

“You are very beautiful,” Legolas finally said, causing her to flush. “Your hair is a marvelous white, like moonlight. I have never known humans to grow such luminous hair, save for those who would be considered very old to your kind.” 

Though it was a compliment, Éla could not shake his clinical appraisal. As she made to respond he continued.

“Your skin is a lovely shade of bronze. Very few west of the Celduin possess such a complexion. Do you hail from the East?” 

As innocuous as the comment and question were, Éla felt that she was somehow being pressed for information. 

_ “Are all ellon so free with their compliments to strange women?” _ she asked with a polite smile. Giving the ellon a taste of his own medicine with a judgement posing as an innocuous question.

“I am merely stating my observations—they just happen to be complimentary,” Legolas replied coolly.

Éla resisted the urge to roll her eyes and huff. She felt trapped by etiquette as a guest of Lord Elrond's house to entertain Legolas’ veiled interrogation and it was beginning to grate on her nerves. 

A moment passed where Éla looked around at the garden once more, her gaze lingering on anything but Legolas. 

“You have yet to answer my question, Lady Éla.” Legolas’s voice was as even as ever, yet the undertone of annoyance rang in Éla’s ears like a bell. 

Not liking where this conversation was going, Éla schooled her features into an expression of polite neutrality. 

_ “The hour is late and I must return to my room,” _ she replied, before gathering her skirt and standing up.  _ “I apologize that I must take my leave from you so suddenly, I hope the rest of your evening is enjoyable.”  _

Before he could respond to her retreat, Éla had already made her hasty exit.

Legolas remained in the garden for some time after, reflecting on his interaction with the mysterious guest of Lord Elrond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be shy, leave a comment :)


	3. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éla finally meets with Lord Elrond.  
> Aragorn returns from a mysterious errand and introduces Éla to a good friend of his.  
> Éla confides in Arwen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual italics = Éla using Westron sign language/mouthing

#  Chapter 3: Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner

Éla was a bit nervous as she had never met anyone like a Lord in her life. Her rumination on the events of the past night did not help her nerves, but thankfully Arwen offered her comforting presence as she led Éla to Lord Elrond’s study. Éla drew her mind from her thoughts and tried instead to take in her surroundings. The main house of Imladris was built similarly to her room, with light grey stone laid with intricately carved wood, and lots of natural light that cascaded through white or pale blue sheer curtains that billowed pleasantly in the summer breeze. 

“We are almost there,” said Arwen. She noticed the way Éla wrung her hands nervously and gave her friend a gentle smile. “Do not be afraid, my father only wishes to help you.” 

Éla nodded and tried her best to return the smile.

The doors to Lord Elrond’s study were a dark oak and were accented with lifelike carvings of vines, which could also be found crawling up the columns of the many courtyards and gardens of Imladris. Even through her nerves Éla was impressed by the intricacy of elvish architecture, owing the level of refinement to their immortality. On any other day she may have found them interesting but today they were a symbol of the status of Lord Elrond as a ruler of an entire realm of Elves. A good first impression would be crucial. Arwen opened the double doors and stepped through, before ushering in the anxious woman.

The room they entered was more lavishly designed than any room Éla had become familiar with in her time in Imladris. It was floored with white and light grey tile, with a deep red rug in the center. The walls were lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, filled with leather bound tomes, scrolls, and even stone tablets. A grand darkwood desk and a set of high backed chairs with red velvet lining stood to Éla’s far left, closer to her and the doorway was a fireplace that cracked peacefully. 

“Éla is here to see you Adar,” Arwen announced to her father, who stood tall and imposing before his desk. 

“Thank you Arwen, I will send for you to finalize some of the planning for our arriving guests in the evening.” 

With that, Arwen inclined her head to her father and offered Éla one last encouraging smile as she exited the room, shutting the heavy doors behind her. 

Éla turned to face the Elf-Lord. She noticed that his skin was fair like Arwen’s and Éla could see a slight resemblance between the two—although Lord Elrond did not look necessarily older than Arwen. Though there was a weight to the gaze in his deep grey eyes that spoke to the millennia he had seen. He was just as tall as all the other elves were and had long chestnut brown hair that was braided in an intricate plait down his back. He wore deep blue and sand-coloured robes with a small circlet of gold around his forehead, distinguishing him as a leader among the other elven-folk she had seen around. 

He smiled good naturedly at Éla and inclined his head. 

“I trust you are well rested,” he stated, his voice pleasantly masculine and even.

Éla did her best to curtsy, though she was still unused to the flowing gowns that Arwen provided for her. 

“ _ Yes, my Lord, I am in your debt for your hospitality _ ,” she signed and mouthed. She suspected he would be able to read her lips but thought it best to sign as well and not make assumptions. 

“My daughter has already informed me that you are unable to speak, though do not fear; it will be no burden to our conversation. You need not trouble yourself with signing, if you wish.” he clarified. Éla nodded her head and smiled in reply. He continued, “You are in no debt for your stay here either; you were brought here by Mithrandir and are a friend of my people as well.”

_ “Thank you my Lord,” _ she mouthed.

“I assume you have many questions about how you came to be here,” Elrond said, while gesturing for Éla to sit. Noting the gratitude on her face as she sat, he made his way past his desk to a low cabinet that was situated on the side of it. He brought out a decanter with a dark amber liquid in it as well as a pair of glasses, before taking his place in his chair opposite to Éla. 

“This should help with your fatigue,” he offered after pouring her a glass.

Éla took the drink and sipped it experimentally. It was spiced and it tingled in her throat when she swallowed, allowing a comforting warmth to enter her body. It was pleasant, as she found herself chilled to the bone after waking up each morning in spite of the summer heat, and dogged by constant fatigue even after being discharged from the healer’s care weeks ago. 

Lord Elrond watched Éla patiently and she got the impression that he was waiting for her to ask some questions. She had many, but the most pressing one was one she wasn’t certain she wanted the answer to.

_ “My mother?” _ she mouthed. Elrond’s eyes shone with emotions; pity, sympathy, and a tinge of regret that confused Éla. 

“I am afraid I bear ill news. She did not survive. Mithrandir would have brought her with you, I am sure, if she had not already fallen when he came upon you.”

Éla nodded, forcing back the lump in her throat with another sip of the dark liquor. 

_ “My village is gone as well?” _

Elrond nodded carefully.

_ “I was the only one left _ .”

It was not a question. 

Though there was no sound, Éla’s words hung thick in the air of the study. 

“I regret that you have had to experience such suffering,” Elrond responded after a considerable silence. His words were slow and laced with kindness, but also a small measure of wariness. “You are welcome to stay in my house until Mithrandir returns,” he offered, “I shall send for you upon his arrival. In the meantime, please, rest and recover your strength.” 

Éla bowed her head in gratitude to the Elf Lord, taking her leave after his dismissal.

  
  


* * *

  
  


A few days after meeting Lord Elrond, Éla spent her afternoons in her rooms reading a book about the history of Imladris. She marvelled at the sheer amount of recorded history of the Elves, but had been growing weary of having nobody to share her findings with. She was interrupted by a knock at her door. Excited to have someone calling on her, she opened it revealing Aragorn. 

He greeted her with a smile.

_ “Aragorn!”  _ She greeted her friend enthusiastically. _ “You have returned from your errand?” _

“Yes,” he responded. “Arwen told me you have been holed up in your chamber for quite some time, poring over old Quenya tomes.” There was surprise and a hint of mirth in his voice. 

__ _ “I have had to pass the time by myself, save for tea with Bilbo, while my two friends have been attending to their duties. Besides, I thought if I learned some Quenya, the Elves of Imladris might actually speak to me,” _ Éla remarked, rolling her eyes with the latter comment.

Éla stepped aside, gesturing for the Ranger to enter. 

They sat at the small table in the portion of Éla’s room meant for receiving guests. She left the door open, wishing to avoid unsavoury rumours about her and Aragorn meeting behind closed doors. 

_ “I’m sorry I don’t have any tea to offer you,” _ she signed.

Aragorn let out a sigh and shook his head. 

“That is quite alright. Believe me, I have had enough of tea and teatime and other foodstuffs of hobbits for the time being.”

Éla cocked her head to the side in question. 

_ “What have you been up to that involves hobbits and their cuisine?” _ Éla asked with a curious smile on her face. 

“I wish I could tell you my friend, but I am afraid it is not my place.”

Éla heaved an exaggerated sigh before signing,  _ “You sound just like Arwen whenever I ask about what she is preparing for or why the other elves and dwarves are here. “ _

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the Ranger in annoyance, though he knew the air of her actions were somewhat playful. Éla was getting fed up with being left in the dark.

Aragorn let out a puff of air through his nose that was almost a chuckle. 

“How have you been faring?” he asked, his eyes scanning her movements for any signs of discomfort. He had already noted how she was not as slow in her movements as she had been when they first met. 

_ “I am well and my injury is healed,” _ she informed him.  _ “Though I often find myself aimless without company and with little to do as I wait for this Gandalf to return.” _

Aragorn nodded, seeing the restlessness in his friend’s hands as she signed to him, the gestures eager and erratic.

“Then I expect you will be pleased to know that I have a friend I would like you to meet,” he announced with a self-satisfied grin. 

_ “A friend?”  _ Éla jested. _ “You mean other than Arwen? Aragorn, I am shocked!.” _

Aragorn feigned injury, “Do you think I am so unpopular?” 

_ “You are as prickly as your stubble, save for a few,” _ she responded with mock pompousness,  _ “and your general countenance is not at all inviting.” _

“Well, not all of us are graced with a beauty that rivals the Eldar,” he shot back. 

The grimace on Éla’s face made the Ranger snort in laughter.

_ “So, when will I meet this friend of yours?” _ Éla asked.

“Tonight in the dining hall!” he exclaimed. “But I’m afraid I must now take my leave of you, as I still have some errands I must see to before I settle in. I will see you then.” 

Aragorn got up and offered Éla a polite bow. “My Lady,” he said, before striding out of her room.

Éla turned to her wardrobe, considering what she should wear to dinner.

As per his invitation earlier that afternoon, Aragorn arrived at Éla’s chambers shortly after sunset. Éla noted that he was not wearing his usual Ranger garb, his familiar weapons belt missing along with his worn cloak and boots. They were replaced by a clean, dark blue tunic, black breeches, and dark brown boots. He had even shaved. 

Éla was slightly taken aback by how much he had bothered to clean up for their dinner. His friend must have been very important to him, as Aragorn did not usually put in such effort into his appearance, even when seeing his beloved Arwen. 

Éla felt comforted that she had chosen to wear her nicest gown, silently giving thanks to Arwen for lending her such fine clothing. Her dress was a pale purple, with elegant white embroidery, a long lace train, and floor length sleeves. Her long, white braids neatly cascaded down her back, still light and fragrant from their morning wash. She was a sight to behold, and she indeed felt like her beauty might truly rival the Eldar, at least for the night. 

“Are you ready?” Aragorn asked. 

Éla nodded, closing her door behind her as they made their way to the dining hall.

As usual, the hall that was adjacent to the central courtyard of Lord Elrond’s main house was filled with Elves of both Imladris and the Woodland Realm, as well as various members of the dwarf clans and, to Éla’s surprise, a company of men who she concluded must have arrived recently.

Éla scanned for the familiar faces of Arwen or Bilbo but was disheartened when neither were found. 

“Arwen is dining with Lord Elrond this evening,” Aragorn said, noticing his friend’s craned neck. 

Éla’s shoulders sagged slightly as she sighed in response.

“Worry not, you may yet make a new friend this night,” Aragorn assured her.

He led her through the crowded tables laden with food and drink and the occasional dwarf, until they reached the far left corner of the hall, near the open windows that faced the gardens and the river. 

There, at one end of the long tables sat Legolas.

Éla felt her stomach drop. Surely this could not be the friend that Aragorn spoke of?

To her dismay, Aragorn made his way over to the end of the table where the ellon sat. When Legolas caught sight of the Ranger he stood, and the two embraced, clapping each other on the back. Aragorn then waved Éla over. 

Legolas looked in the direction that Aragorn was waving, and when he caught sight of Éla, the large smile that was plastered on his face faltered.

Hesitantly, Éla made her way over to the end of the table.

“Legolas, this is Lady Éla. She is a guest of Lord Elrond,” Aragorn said, introducing her.

“Actually, I have already had the pleasure of making the Lady’s acquaintance,” Legolas replied. 

Aragorn turned to Éla, surprise evident on his face.

_ “We met the other night in the gardens,” _ Éla responded.

“Well good, then I shall have less of the formalities to suffer through,” the Ranger said, taking a seat at the long table. Three plates of food were already set out for them. 

Legolas and Aragorn sat side-by-side on the opposite end of the table from Éla, their backs facing the open windows.

Éla took her seat, being careful not to let her long sleeves trail on the floor. She cursed her luck at having wasted such a beautiful gown on a dinner with Legolas. 

She looked down at the plate in front of her, which held some form of lean meat with peas, corn, and other vegetables in a light sauce. An elleth of Imladris passed by, placing a mug of mead in front of Éla and a mug of what she assumed was ale in front of Legolas and Aragorn due to the froth that threatened to spill over from the top. Éla nodded her thanks to the elleth who gave her a polite smile in return. 

“It has been some time since I saw you last, my friend,” Legolas said to Aragorn.

“Yes, I have been on many an errand for the Grey Wizard.” Aragorn replied, weariness settling into his tone as he reached for his mug of ale. 

“Mithrandir has been quite active as of late,” Legolas remarked.

Éla looked up from her plate as she heard Legolas say ‘Mithrandir’. Legolas caught her movement out of the corner of his eye, giving Éla a sideways glance before returning his attention to Aragorn.

“I am not permitted by either Lord Elrond or Gandalf to speak of the matter, though I believe you’ll both know soon enough,” the Ranger responded, emptying his mug and motioning to the server with a pitcher for another. 

Legolas looked warily at Éla, wondering about the connection between her and the Grey Wizard. 

Aragorn looked between the two of them, noting the tension, though not realizing how heavy the undercurrent was.

“Éla!” Aragorn began, his voice a bit louder and his face already flushed from the ale. “Have I ever told you the story of when Legolas got himself tangled in a trap I had set for a wild boar?” 

Éla shook her head, as a bemused expression spread onto her face.

Legolas grimaced, “I’m sure the Lady would not want to hear such a tale.” 

Aragorn buzzed his lips in dismissal, “Éla is no shrinking violet.”

Éla couldn’t help but crack a smile at seeing Aragorn so free of his usual stoic demeanor and Legolas so put out.

“It was a while back,” Aragorn began, “and Legolas and I were patrolling the northern border of Mirkwood. Supplies were low as we had not been expecting to be out so long. I decided to set a trap for a wild boar, as I had seen a small pack roaming the area we were in,” he began, nodding to the ellon who filled his mug with more brew. Aragorn took a swig before continuing. “So I set a trap. Just some well-tied rope and a few other odds and ends I had. I hid the line under leaves and mud and such so that it would remain hidden. Little did I know it would remain too hidden!” The Ranger chuckled deviously at the memory. Legolas groaned lightly, rolling his eyes at his friend’s behaviour. Though Éla could see that smile that Legolas was trying to suppress. “So I went off some ways to wait. Legolas was far from where I was, scouting ahead. I assumed on his way back to our meeting place he would notice the trap I had set, as his senses are so keen, and yet-” Aragorn could not help but begin laughing, drawing some of the attention of the diners at the other end of the long table. 

Éla noticed the tips of Legolas’ pointed ears flushing pink with embarrassment. She noted how it made him look a lot less intimidating. 

“Aragorn,” Legolas growled lowly in warning, glancing to the curious onlookers that the Ranger’s laughter had attracted. Éla couldn't help but giggle a bit herself, trying her best to hide it by taking a sip of her mead. 

“Anyway,” Aragorn continued after composing himself, “quicker than I could warn him—as you know ellon are so swift, too swift in this case—before I could shout anything to warn him, Legolas gets his foot caught on the tripwire and lands face first into a mound of boar dung!” Aragorn was banging on the table with his fist as he laughed. 

Éla’s mouth went agape in shock. She couldn’t imagine how livid the meticulously groomed and composed Legolas would be at being caked in excrement. Legolas rubbed a hand over his face in exasperation. 

“You should have seen it,” the Ranger continued, his voice altered by the grin that threatened to split his face in two, “the perpetually elegant Legolas absolutely caked in dung, it took him days to wash the brown tinge from his hair. Ha!”

Legolas gave Éla a passing glance as he turned away from Aragorn who had contented himself by downing the remnants of his ale. 

Éla gave him a knowing smile as she sipped her mead—she had an idea of what Legolas must have gone through to wash the dung out from her own share of mishaps. Legolas’s flush deepened and spread from his ears to his face and neck.

Aragorn brought his mug to his lips and was surprised, apparently forgetting that it was already empty. After slamming it down on the table, he stood.

“I am off to find the ichor of the Eldar,” he announced, barely suppressing a smile. “Try not to have too much fun without me.”

Both Éla and Legolas rolled their eyes in response to their mutual friend’s antics. 

_ “Is he always this way when he drinks?” _ Éla asked good naturedly, Aragorn’s high spirits taking the edge off of her nerves at seeing Legolas again.

Legolas’ eyes were still trained on Aragorn’s retreating form through the crowd.

“Not always,” he replied, “He is usually only this cavalier with those that he has known for a long time. How long did you say you have known Aragorn?”

“ _ I didn’t.”  _ Éla replied matter-of-factly, noting the probing tone of Legolas’ question. “ _ Why do you ask? _ ”

“Ah, that is my mistake. I ask because I think it is quite remarkable that Aragorn seems to trust you a great deal and I haven’t heard your name mentioned at least since the last time I saw him over a year ago.” There was a pause as Legolas decided how to proceed. “As I recall you had also mentioned that you have befriended Lady Arwen.” Éla noted that it wasn’t a question. “I presume you are aware of her… relationship to Aragorn?”

Éla arched a brow at the ellon, getting a distinct feeling about what he was gesturing at and becoming crestfallen as her hope of goodwill between them began to dwindle. 

_ “I am well aware, though I am not sure why you would bring up such a matter now. _ ” Seeing the evasiveness on his face before he had a chance to express it through words, the last of her hope died off as she cut off his reply.  _ “What do you really want to say to me? I tire of your dancing around what you truly want to say for the sake of propriety.” _ Éla cracked her knuckles in between phrases, her irritation creeping up quickly. 

Legolas’ eyes flashed with indignation at Éla’s forwardness. 

“I am merely bringing to your attention that it is usually seen as… in poor taste for an elleth to become so closely acquainted with one who is in a romantic relationship with another elleth. Though perhaps there is no such custom from where you hail.”

Éla frowned at his emphasis on her being a foreigner. 

_ “I appreciate your concern for my reputation Master Legolas, though I feel it is pertinent to remind you that I am not an elleth and neither is Aragorn. And we mortals are not as stiff with our affections with friends as it seems some are. Both Arwen and Aragorn are comfortable with my friendship with both parties. And if what you say were applicable to Aragorn when you last knew him, perhaps he has changed and is more comfortable being amicable with newer people in his life.”  _

Éla gathered her skirts as she stood to leave.  _ “Now if you would excuse me.” _ Éla swept through the dining hall before Legolas could protest. Éla couldn’t trust herself to continue to be civil with the ellon after his accusation. 

  
  


Éla walked briskly through the halls of the main house of Imladris as she returned to her room. She ran into Arwen on her way. 

The elleth’s eyes lit up when she spotted her friend. 

“Éla,” Arwen called in greeting, taking the woman’s hands in her own. “It is so good to see you, how are you faring?”

_ “Well enough,”  _ Éla responded, her spirits lifting considerably at the sight of her friend. 

Arwen searched her friend’s face, seeing the aura of discomfort hanging around the woman like a cloud.

“Is something the matter?” The elleth’s voice was soft and tinged with concern.

Éla began to mouth a response but thought better of it, instead motioning for her and Arwen to make their way over Éla’s room.

Once inside, Éla took a seat on the low chaise at the foot of her bed, Arwen taking the space next to her. 

_ “I have somewhat of a problem,” _ Éla confessed, signing as she mouthed. The familiar gestures comforted her and allowed her to properly collect her thoughts.

Arwen nodded, giving her undivided attention and signaling for her friend to continue. 

_ “The other night I was in one of the gardens, and an ellon approached me. His name was Legolas.” _ Arwen hummed in recognition.  _ “At first, I was glad that he continued to speak with me after learning that I am not an elleth and mute. But as the conversation wore on, I began to feel as though he was interrogating me. He asked me where I hail from, I avoided the question and when he noted this brought it up once more. Perhaps he was just curious as to why a mortal woman is the guest of Lord Elrond, but I felt a bit… threatened,”  _ she continued, faltering on the last word as she was not sure it was entirely accurate.  _ “I did not want to disclose where I was from or why I am here, I just-” _ she managed, her silent words and motions faltering once more. Tears pricked her eyes at the thought of her mother and village. 

Arwen held Éla’s hand in one of her own, giving it a comforting squeeze. Éla took a calming breath and dried her eyes before continuing, this time only mouthing to Arwen as she continued holding her friend’s hand for comfort.

_ “I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, even considering that perhaps his straightforward and wary manner was due to him being a warrior, like Aragorn. But everything he said to me, even the compliments, seemed to be veiled attempts at gleaning information from me. It felt invasive—especially since we had only just met each other—and it upset me to feel treated with such suspicion.”  _ Éla paused, considering whether to tell Arwen of Legolas’ accusation of her supposed impropriety. Feeling too embarrassed and not wanting to implicate Arwen into her quarrel any further, she decided to leave it out. _ “And even tonight at dinner, once Aragorn had left us alone briefly, Legolas began to point out my unfamiliarity with Elvish customs in a way that did not feel well-intended. It made me feel like more of an outsider than I already am. It felt as though he had already made up his mind about me within moments of meeting me, which is something that already so many others do.” _

Arwen listened intently, waiting for Éla to finish. 

“I am not as close to Legolas as Aragorn, but it is generally known that my Woodland kin are much more… guarded than those here at Imladris.”

The white haired woman cocked her head to the side in curiosity. 

Arwen continued, “The people of Eryn Galen are no strangers to war. Fairly recently they have had to fight the descendants of the Ungoliant in their woods, and threats from Dol Guldur. And even before then at the battle of the last alliance, they only returned to their home with a third of their army. They have lost many of their kindred in battle. They have grown suspicious and watchful.” 

Éla nodded understanding, but still stung. “ _ Perhaps that is why Legolas was so wary of me.” _

Arwen nodded, a somber expression passing over her delicate features.

“I do not condone his actions, though I hope my knowledge may favour your next interaction.” Her face became thoughtful. “Perhaps I should speak to Aragorn about this matter.” 

Éla shook her head violently. 

“ _ No! No, please do not trouble yourself. I do not wish for this matter to become a great ordeal.” _

__ “I just want to make you feel comfortable and safe here. For the time being this is your home.” The elleth replied, taking the white haired woman’s hands in hers. “And you are my friend.”

_ “I know, and I am grateful for your concern, but I wish to put the matter to rest. I will simply avoid Legolas,” _ she mouthed in reply. 

Arwen sighed but did not push the matter further.

“If that is your wish then I will respect it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think Elvish cuisine is like? Do you think there is much variance between kingdoms?


	4. Many Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éla's usual Elvish lesson with Arwen takes an unexpected turn.  
> Gandalf the Grey arrives at Imladris and reveals crucial information, while also bringing new questions to light.  
> Éla meets Aragorn's unique traveling companions from his errand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics = Westron sign/ Éla mouthing

Chapter 4: Many Meetings

The next morning, Éla was woken up by a knock on her door from Arwen. The elleth was already dressed in her daytime attire despite the sun barely rising. She held a silver tray laden with covered dishes.

“I thought after breakfast we could spend some time in the library brushing up on your Elvish, as my father has no need for my assistance today,” she stated.

Éla nodded sleepily, grateful for the opportunity to spend more time with her friend as she had been so busy as of late with the arrival of so many other guests of Lord Elrond. 

The two ate breakfast in Éla’s room, and once she was dressed for the day they headed to the library. 

Lord Elrond’s house had a great collection of books and texts. In the library open to the public were histories, poetry and legends in many languages known to Elves, Men and even some in Dwarvish languages. Arwen and Éla usually sat near a large window by the section of Elvish poetry. Arwen thought the easiest way to teach Éla her people’s language was to immerse her in their art of language. 

Éla found that she was more naturally inclined to Quenya than Sindarin, though she chalked that up to Quenya being Arwen’s mother tongue. Usually Arwen would read out passages for Éla to translate, as she claimed that being able to read a language was one thing, but understanding it when spoken was another entirely. 

Today, they were working through an epic poem written in Sindarin. From what she could glean from stanzas Arwen read, the poem was spoken by an ellon to his beloved, a lady he could not court because of her status, and his ensuing sadness and eventual fading.

Éla was poring over the parchment she was writing on, absently tapping her quill against her cheek in thought, when Arwen spoke in Westron after what seemed like ages.

“Ah, Lord Legolas, good morning to you.” 

Éla tried not to wince as she looked up from her paper to see that the ellon in question as he stood before them. He offered a polite bow to Arwen and nodded in Éla’s direction. 

“Lady Arwen, Lord Elrond requests your presence in his study. We’ve just finished our meeting and we’ve had some unexpected developments.”

Arwen’s face fell. She gave Éla an apologetic glance. 

“I am sorry Éla, I am afraid I must cut our lesson short for today.”

_ “There is nothing to apologize for,” _ Éla responded, placing her quill down carefully to sign. 

Arwen smiled at Éla, before gathering her skirts and standing up to leave. 

She offered a polite nod to Legolas before she made her way to the doors of the library.

There was an odd moment of silence as Legolas continued to stand where he was, as Éla had thought he would have gone with Arwen to Lord Elrond’s summons. Apparently she had thought wrong. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Good morning Lady Éla,” he greeted her. Was he intending to apologize? She was surprised that he was being polite to her after she practically stormed out the night before at dinner but did her best to school her features into a neutral mask. 

_ “Good morning Master Legolas,”  _ she feigned a smile. She had noticed how Arwen had called him ‘Lord Legolas,’ though he did not correct her when she referred to him with the lower title of ‘Master’. She thought perhaps it was another Elvish custom she was not familiar with. 

“May I join you?” he asked, glancing at the spot where Arwen was seated before, across from Éla at the small table they sat at.

_ “Of course,” _ she obliged, knowing that it would only create more tension if she refused. 

Legolas glanced down at the open book in front of him. 

“You are learning Sindarin?” he asked, surprise evident in his voice. 

Éla shrugged nonchalantly,  _ “Yes, Arwen is teaching me both Quenya and Sindarin in exchange for me teaching her Westron sign language _ .”

Legolas nodded. “How do you usually conduct your studies?”

Once again Éla was surprised that Legolas seemed so genuinely interested in her learning, and that some form of snide comment or undercurrent to his tone wasn’t evident. Perhaps Arwen was right and she only needed to get to know him better in order for him to be less wary and abrasive to her. 

_ “Usually she would read out a passage from a text and I would write out its translation and she would check it for any errors. Each day we focus on a different language, alternating between Quenya and Sindarin, then I would teach Arwen how to sign certain portions of the poems we would read.” _ she replied. 

Legolas hummed in reply, scanning the pages of the poem that Arwen had previously been reading from.  __

“May I check your translation?” His question came off hesitantly, as Legolas eyed the paper in front of Éla. 

Éla tried to hide the stunned look on her face. Was Legolas going to continue her lesson? She slid her paper over to him and he picked it up gently. 

Éla watched as his grey eyes scanned her translation. Every now and then he nodded, murmuring lightly to himself in Sindarin. After a few moments of Éla wondering why Legolas was being so kind to her and him finishing reading her work, he slid the paper back to Éla’s side of the small table. 

“Your translation is almost perfect,” he started, “but here,” he pointed to the last few lines of the stanza she wrote out, “the literal translation, which you wrote is correct, the speaker is saying ‘and I like the flowers of spring will fade,’ but there is a more… colloquial understanding in this instance where the word for ‘fade’ would be closer in meaning to death or to die.”

Éla nodded in understanding. 

_ “So then, the speaker does not ‘fade’, he dies?” _

Legolas paused for a moment, thinking over his response. 

“Both translations and interpretations are true, though they depend on the reader’s knowledge of the Eldar. When one of my kindred suffers immense heartbreak and succumbs to despair, they will begin to fade and eventually die,” he explained. 

Éla was shocked.  _ “But I thought the Eldar were all immortal?” _

“It is wrong to think that immortality means never dying,” Legolas replied sagely. 

_ “I do not understand.” _ Éla stated with a puzzled look on her face. 

Legolas regarded Éla for a moment, there was a glimmer of some emotion that Éla could not pinpoint behind his usually disapproving eyes. 

“Immortality as it is commonly known is meant for the body. The Eldar do not decay through age and do not know disease or sickness, though we can be slain in battle, immortal simply means not mortal, to not physically decay. But that does not shield us from death through the other means, such as fading as a result of great emotional trauma.”

Éla felt drawn to Legolas in that moment, the vulnerability that laced his words wrapped around her heartstrings like ribbons. Though his words may sound clinical, she could hear the raw undercurrent. Perhaps, he knew intimately that immortality did not offer him protection from death. 

Legolas continued to read the stanzas for Éla to translate and checked her work after each stanza. Éla learned that he was far more acquainted with the nuances of the Sindarin language as it was his mother tongue. For the first time since they had met, Éla and Legolas had a peaceful interaction. 

* * *

  
  


Two week’s time had passed since Éla had first met Lord Elrond when she was summoned to his study once more. Éla was so seized by boredom in the past weeks due to the absence of Aragorn and Arwen that she practically ran to the Elf-Lord’s study. 

When she arrived at the doors Éla took a breath, smoothing back her hair and skirts before knocking on the door. 

“You may enter,” said Lord Elrond from the other side of the large wooden doors. 

Éla heaved one of the doors open and slipped in, shutting it behind her before turning to face the Lord of Imladris. 

She smiled and gave a short curtsy in greeting. Before she could mouth a proper greeting her eyes met the other person standing near Lord Elrond.

He was an old man, tall and fair skinned with long, grey hair and a matching long beard. His eyes were a striking shade of blue that twinkled with mirth. He held a long, dark wood staff in his hand with a crystal nestled in the unusual twist of branches at its peak. The grey robes he wore were strikingly similar to the blue ones that Éla wore herself. 

“Have a seat Éla,” Lord Elrond instructed, noting the curious look she was giving the stranger. 

The three sat at Lord Elrond’s desk, who sat opposite to Éla and the old stranger.

“This is Mithrandir—Gandalf the Grey,” Elrond introduced.

_ “Gandalf,”  _ Éla silently echoed, still staring at the Wizard. 

“Gandalf, this is Éla,” Lord Elrond introduced the stunned girl. 

“It is good to finally meet you properly Éla,” Gandalf replied, smiling warmly at her. 

_ “Yes, I have been anxious to meet you, Master Gandalf,” _ Éla finally replied, stuttering over her mouthed and signed words. 

“No need to refer to me so formally,” Gandalf chuckled. “I know you must have many questions and I am more than glad to provide you with some answers. As well as ask a few questions myself.”

“I also have some inquiries regarding young Éla,” Lord Elrond interjected.

_ “I am not sure where to start,” _ Éla replied honestly. She regretted not writing down her many questions for the Wizard. Since she had arrived at Imladris she always seemed to be bursting with curiosity but when she was finally face to face with the person who could answer her questions they all seemed to fly out of her head like uncaged birds. 

“ _ Perhaps I can answer some of your questions first?”  _ she said, looking at the Grey Wizard.

“Very well,” he agreed. “What do you know of your father, Éla?”. 

Éla was surprised. She was not expecting that question. She thought for a moment before replying, noting the rapt attention both the Wizard and Elf-Lord were giving her for what seemed such an innocuous question. 

_ “I was told he was a traveller, a scholar or some sort,”  _ she began.  _ “I was told by my mother-”  _ her gestures faltered for a moment. 

“Take your time Éla,” Elrond offered comfortingly. 

She nodded, taking a steadying breath before continuing. 

_ “I was told that my father had gone on a journey when I was still very young. He instructed my mother to move ourselves to a remote village and that in time he would return.” _

“And did he?” Gandalf asked, brows raised curiously.

Éla shook her head.  _ “We had not ever heard from him again.” _

Lord Elrond hummed in acknowledgement, steepling his fingers together in thought, glancing at Gandalf.

“Do you have any memory of him? Or his name?” Gandalf pressed. 

_ “My mother never told me his name, and she spoke little of him as the pain of his disappearance was always too near,”  _ she replied.

She sat for a moment, wracking her brain for the slightest recollection of her father. 

_ “I do not remember much, not even his face. But I do remember the sound of his voice, and the way he smelled. Though I doubt that is helpful _ , _ ’ _ she shrugged apologetically. 

Gandalf looked a bit crestfallen. 

“Was there anything your mother had told you about him?”

Another moment passed as Éla tried to recall. 

_ She told me that I got my hair color from him, as well as the blue robes I usually wear. Oh! And this,”  _ she said, fishing the crystal pendant out from under her gown’s neckline. 

The crystal hummed with old magic, glowing faintly from within. 

Gandalf and Lord Elrond shared another meaningful glance. 

“I believe you are right, my old friend,” Elrond spoke to Gandalf. “Though I do not know what this foretells of our current predicament.”

Éla glanced quizzically at the two elders, more confused than ever.

_ I am not sure how this is relevant to my current situation,” _ she addressed them both.  _ “What does my father have to do with anything? Why did you even come to my village?”  _ The latter question was directed to the Wizard. 

Gandalf sighed. “Forgive me child, this must all be very frustrating. I had travelled to the East to investigate the disappearance of my kin, the two Blue Wizards. I followed the rumours until I came upon your village, where I found you.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Éla, you are the child of my kin. Alatar the Blue Wizard,” Gandalf said grandly.

“How can you be certain she is Morinehtar’s child?” Lord Elrond asked.

“I would know the magic of my brother anywhere Lord Elrond, I had to be absolutely certain before telling Éla, but what she knows of her father, along with her resemblance and the crystal she bears, there is no more doubt in my mind.”

Éla was stunned. Never would she have thought that her father was a Wizard.

_ “How can this be?”  _ she asked.  _ “And I resemble my mother, a mortal in all ways except hair color.” _

“It is not resemblance in mere physical features,” Lord Elrond replied. ”A large reason why many mistake you for an elleth is not just the colour of your hair, Éla, but because you bear a similar blessing to that of the Eldar. Of immortality.”

_ “Immortality?” _ Éla was too stunned to sign the word, merely mouthing it in disbelief.  _ “It cannot be!”  _ she exclaimed.

“Let me ask you this then,” said Gandalf, “How old are you in the years of men?”

Éla slumped in her chair a bit, reluctant to answer the question as it would not help her argument. 

_ “Two hundred this coming winter,” _ she replied, avoiding eye contact with both the Wizard and Elven Lord. 

Gandalf made a noise of confirmation in the back of his throat.

“I assume that it is your Istari lineage that lends you such a long life in the eyes of men and has spared you from aging.” Elrond stated.

_ “I had known it was odd for men to live this long, but I never truly thought myself strange as my mother was quite old as well, and she was not as old as women three times younger than she,” _ Éla replied. 

“It is not entirely unheard of for children of men to live long, though it was more common in earlier ages when more elven blood was possessed by men,” Lord Elrond replied. “Though it is rare indeed among those who are not of the Dunedain in our current times.”

“Now that we know you are the child of Alatar I must fulfill my duty as a fellow Istari to train you,” Gandalf stated. 

_ “Train?”  _ Éla echoed.  _ “You meant to say that I am capable of wielding magic?” _

“What men refer to as ‘magic’ are the abilities gifted to the Istari and the Eldar.” Lord Elrond clarified. 

_ “So I am capable of using the abilities of the Istari? Yet I could do nothing when my mother was slain and my village razed.”  _

Tears stung Éla’s eyes and fell unbidden. Guilt pierced her heart, lodging a sharp pain within her chest. 

Gandalf’s face fell. 

“If your mother did not know anything herself or chose not to tell you of your parentage, then it is in no way your fault for not being able to know of your possible capabilities, let alone use them.” His words were true enough, though they offered little comfort to Éla.

_ “Why hadn’t she said anything? Did she know? Why would she choose to keep this from me my entire life?” _ Éla asked. 

Lord Elrond sighed. “I am afraid that is a question we cannot answer for you Éla.”

Éla was in low spirits after her unsatisfying meeting with Elrond and Gandalf. On her way back to her room she saw Bilbo walking merrily through the halls. Once he noticed Éla, Bilbo’s face brightened up considerably before he excitedly sped walked over. 

“Éla my dear! How are you doing?” he greeted warmly.

_ “I have seen better days,”  _ Éla signed with a rueful grin. “ _ I have just met with Lord Elrond and have finally met with Gandalf, but I have learned things I am not quite sure how I feel about.” _

“Oh,” Bilbo frowned up at her. “I hope you know that if you need a friend I am always here to talk. But, until then, I know just the thing to cheer you up. There is someone that I think you would be pleased to meet, if you are willing.” At the inquisitive tilt of Éla’s head, Bilbo continued, “My nephew has been in Rivendell for a short while now, and though he was wounded and barely conscious when he first arrived he is recovering nicely! I would love for you to meet him, perhaps later if you do not feel ready to do so now.” 

After a short consideration, Éla nodded, accepting Bilbo’s invitation and eliciting an excited hop from the hobbit as he began to lead her away towards the medical wing of the estate.

They entered a room not unlike the one that Éla had woken up in months before when she had arrived in Imladris. On the bed in the middle of the room sat a hobbit with dark brown curly hair and blue eyes that looked like a dark haired younger sweet faced Bilbo. Éla assumed this was her old friend’s nephew. His skin was pale both naturally and from sickness and the hospice clothes he wore looked far too big for his small frame. At his side sat a round faced fat hobbit in a chair, his hair was a dark golden blond. 

Upon seeing them walk into the room, Frodo remarked with a smile, “Bilbo! What are you doing back so soon? I thought you were going to meet Gandalf over some late afternoon tea.” 

“Hah!” Bilbo exclaimed. “I was indeed, but before I could I ran into a dear friend that I would very much like for you to meet. Frodo,” he said before gesturing at Éla, who stood by his side, “this is the Lady Éla, a guest of Elrond’s house and a kind friend that I’ve had the pleasure of spending many afternoons with. Lady Éla,” he said before making a similar gesture, “this is my dear nephew Frodo Baggins, and his friend and neighbour Samwise Gamgee.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Frodo greeted with a polite nod.

“How do you do?” Samwise offered with a shy smile.

“So you are the Lady Éla that Bilbo has spoken of,” Frodo said, propping himself up to a more upright angle on his bed and wincing in pain slightly at the effort. “I regret that I did not pay great attention to Bilbo’s lessons, when he tried to teach me Westron sign many years ago.”

“And begging your pardon, my Lady, but I haven’t learned any,” Samwise added hesitantly, giving an awkward smile to the tall woman.

Appreciating the politeness of the two hobbits before her, Éla mouthed slowly and clearly for their benefit when she replied, “ _ That should pose no problem. I hope your injury is healing well, Bilbo tells me you suffered a great wound.” _

“It is manageable now yes, thank you my Lady. I have Lord Elrond and the healers to thank.” Frodo sighed.

Éla then heard some excited chattering slowly grow louder as it moved through the hall. 

“Frodo!” one of the voices announced cheerily as it entered the room, “You won’t believe the amount of mud that had fallen out of my arse-crack! You should have seen it, these elves have really got some amazing bathhouses-”

The voice cut off abruptly as its owner turned the corner and locked gazes with Éla. 

“Meriadoc Brandybuck,” Bilbo scolded, “please behave yourself! Especially in the presence of a Lady!”

His horrified face grew an even deeper red before he bowed and said sincerely, “A thousand apologies, my Lady.” He turned to Bilbo and his face grew defiant. “But you must admit that it is not nearly as bad as the time as your company of dwarves bathed in these very fountains of Rivendell, so many years ago,” he defended.

Bilbo spluttered indignantly, though he could not seem to come up with a retort other than.”Just see to it you are mindful of your manners as you are a guest in Lord Elrond’s house!” 

Though perhaps it was unkind, Éla could not help but grin at seeing Bilbo so infuriated. The poor hobbit looked like steam was about to come out of his ears. Éla hid her grin behind her hand. 

With a tired look on his face, Bilbo introduced the two new hobbits. “Lady Éla, this is Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, our company’s resident mischief makers.”

Bilbo turned around to return to his chair, and when he did so Merry made a face and Pippin stuck out his tongue at Bilbo’s back. Éla chuckled silently at them. Bilbo caught sight of Éla’s reaction and turned to see what she was laughing at, but the mischievous hobbits recovered before Bilbo could see.

“Oh, so you’re the Lady Éla that Bilbo has told us about,” said Pippin quickly, covering to placate Bilbo’s suspicious glare. “I’ll have you know that I am quite familiar with Westron sign, it was taught to me by my sister Pervinca when I was but a boy.” He signed, “ _ Quick, make a distraction! _ ” with an urgent expression for emphasis. 

A surprised grin appeared on Merry’s face as Pippin signed this, he apparently did not know of his friend’s proficiency in the language. 

“That’s our Pip!” he said, giving Pippin a hearty clap on his back.

Éla smiled at this before signing, “ _ I look forward to our conversations then. _ ”

Soon after, Bilbo announced that he had to leave for his meeting with Gandalf. Before he left, he offered to walk Éla back to her room, but she declined as she found she was quite enjoying talking with the hobbits.

Merry and Pippin were in the middle of telling Éla about all the pranks they had pulled back home, when Aragorn strode into the room. He gave a slight bow at Éla when he saw her, pleasantly surprised to see her there. 

“Lady Éla,” he offered. “I apologize Master Hobbits, for being late but I am now ready to take you to the dining hall.”

Merry and Pippin grinned excitedly at each other before turning to Éla.

“Lady Éla, I apologize that we had forgotten to invite sooner!” Merry exclaimed. “Aragorn invited us to dine with him tonight in the hall, would you like to join us?” 

“Oh yes! We would very much like to get to know you better, my Lady,” said Pippin enthusiastically.

Éla was reluctant at first, but the feeling quickly faded at Merry and Pippin’s insistence. Relenting, she looked to Aragorn.

“ _ Would that be alright? I know the hall has been crowded as of late, would you have space for another? _ ”

The Ranger gave a warm, broad smile as he reassured her.

“You would be most welcome to join us. And there should be plenty of room to accommodate you, I’ve already asked Legolas to save enough seats at his table for a small party.” Aragorn looked at Sam before asking, “Have you changed your mind about joining us for dinner, Sam?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Strider, I think I’ll stay here for the night. I appreciate your asking though,” Sam replied.

Frodo frowned slightly at this.

“Go on Sam, you should go have your fun. I’ll be fine.”

“Oh no, Mr. Frodo, I wouldn’t be comfortable leaving you all by your lonesome. I think I’m gonna stay right here, if that’s alright with you.”

Éla walked with Merry and Pippin who trailed behind Aragorn, listening to their merry chatter of the wonderful food that awaited them in Lord Elrond’s hall. 

“I must admit, I was afraid that there would be no meat,” Pippin sat to Éla, “Some folk back home in the Shire claimed that the Elves eat nothing but uncooked wild greens.”

Éla raised a brow in question, an amused grin on her face. 

“I was afraid that we wouldn’t be allowed to smoke,” Merry added, “As I never heard of or seen any of Elrond’s folk with a pipe in hand, and I wouldn’t want to offend them. Then when I learned Strider lived here I knew that I would be just fine.” The two hobbits gave each other a knowing smile. 

“That Ranger smokes half as much as a dragon Lady Éla,” Pippin said lowly, putting his hand next to his mouth as he spoke to block the sound from reaching Aragorn’s ears. 

Éla smiled, finding that the two younger hobbits reminded her of what Bilbo was probably like in his youth. 

The four of them arrived at the dining hall long after the sun had set and the moon began to rise. The candles and lanterns that lit the hall gave the air a warm yellow hue. The long wooden tables and benches were all occupied with Dwarves, Elves, and Men. Each race congregated together in sections with few mingling save for those who had to share tables due to the occupancy of the hall being pushed closer to the max with each passing week with more arrivals.

Éla spotted Legolas sitting near a company of fair haired elves clad in greens and browns much like himself, with a few empty spaces at the end of the table where the company sat. Legolas spotted Éla and offered her a polite nod and she, Aragorn and the two hobbits made their way over to the only empty seats in the hall.

Legolas rose from his place allowing for Merry and Pippin to slide on the bench before he sat at the end. Éla sat across from Pippin and Aragorn sat to her right across from Legolas. There was an ellon to Éla’s left with dark golden hair with his back turned to her, engaging in a conversation with someone on the other end of the table in rapid Sindarin.

Two elleths of Imladris came to their end of the table and placed a basket of dinner rolls, a bowl of salad, plates laden with a stew of meat and potatoes, and mugs of mead in front of each of the new arrivals. Before they could offer a plate to Legolas he politely declined. 

“You wound me,” Aragorn jested with his friend “You could not have waited a bit longer for us?” 

Legolas scoffed lightely, “I am sorry my friend, but I had already been waiting an hour and my kin would not see me starve for your sake.” 

Aragorn lifted the mug of mead to his lips, taking a long swig. 

“And I see you could not have waited a moment longer to begin your drink. Are we to have a repeat of our last dinner so soon?” The ellon raised a brow in challenge to the Ranger.

Aragorn’s grey eyes slid from Legolas down to the cup in his hand and back to his friend before placing the cup down and gesturing to the two hobbits.

“Legolas, meet Masters Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, our friends from the Shire.” he said, changing the subject. 

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I am Legolas of Eryn Galen, the Woodland Realm.” Legolas said, offering the hobbits a polite smile.

“Likewise,” said Merry.

“Same to you,” Pippin replied simultaneously. “Oh the Woodland Realm! Bilbo talked about it in his stories about his quest to the Lonely Mountain,” Pippin exclaimed. 

“You are acquainted with Master Bilbo?” Legolas asked.

“Oh yes,” Pippin responded enthusiastically, “he’s my first cousin, twice removed on my great-grandfather’s side, and my second cousin, once removed on my great-grandmother’s side.”

“Is it common for hobbits to be related to each other in such ways?” asked Legolas.

“Well yes, I mean half the Shire is related to each other some way or another. But as a matter of fact, Merry, Bilbo, Frodo, and I are all related through my great-great-grandfather Gerontius Took, who, on account of his numerous children, we refer to as the Old Took. Now-”

Before he could continue, Merry nudged Pippin with his elbow before saying out of the side of his mouth, “I’m not sure Master Legolas would be quite interested in hearing about our extensive relations right now, Pip. Maybe that is a topic better left for another time.”

Pippin seemed to think about Merry’s words for a moment before he nodded to himself self-satisfied. He flashed a smile at Legolas before returning to his stew.

“Your new friends are quite entertaining,” Legolas remarked to Aragorn. 

“Oh quite, though the novelty wears off after travelling for weeks on foot with nothing but questions of when the next stop for second breakfast is,” Aragorn replied wearily before downing the remainder of his mug of mead.

Aragorn glanced at Éla, who was busy finishing off her stew and third dinner roll. Her hunger had seemed to return with a vengeance. 

“I am glad to see you are enjoying your meal and you are no longer eating like a bird.” the Ranger commented, sliding his unfinished stew closer to Éla for her to take some. 

She swallowed the bite that was in her mouth before answering, placing her spoon down to sign as she mouthed. 

“ _ It seems I have worked up quite an appetite after my meeting today _ ,” she replied.

Aragorn’s eyebrows raised as he knew what his friend was insinuating. 

“I am intrigued to hear, we shall speak of it later,”

Éla nodded before putting some of Aragorn’s stew onto her own plate. As she reached for another dinner roll she locked eyes with Legolas who eyed her curiously. She offered him a polite smile before returning to her meal. She wished that she could tell Aragorn right away all that she had learned earlier that day but thought it was best to do so when they were in private. The last thing she wanted was Legolas hearing about her curious predicament. 

An elleth stopped at their table once more, and refilled Aragorn’s mug as well as the two hobbits’. She placed a glass of wine in front of Éla. 

“Did you order this?” Aragorn asked nodding to the glass before Éla, the woman shook her head, confused. 

“It is from the table at the end of the hall my lady,” the elleth explained before walking away. 

Éla glanced in the direction of where the elleth had indicated. She locked eyes with a man with shoulder length blond hair and a beard. He raised his mug of mead and nodded at Éla. 

She turned back to the glass before her, unsure of what to do. 

“It seems you have caught the eye of a lord of Gondor,” Aragorn remarked.

A look of surprise flashed across Éla’s face. A lord of Gondor? Though she was curious she had no desire to be courted by a stranger at this time. She had more pressing things to worry about, like her training with Gandalf. 

She shrugged, signing “ _ I am not interested in strange men who send women they have never spoken to gifts,” _

“A wise decision,” Aragorn nodded. 

Éla glanced at Legolas who was now facing the table where the party of Gondorians were seated. The look on his face somewhere between disapproval and disgust, one he usually reserved for when the dwarves got too rowdy. 

“It seems you are well versed in rebuffing the advances of men,” Aragorn commented, a sly smirk on his face. 

Éla rolled her eyes,  _ “What did Arwen tell you?” _ she asked pointedly. 

Aragorrn raised his hands in mock surrender. 

Legolas turned his attention from the table of the company from Gondor, back to Éla and Aragorn. 

“I had perhaps heard tell of a number of suitors you turned away back in your village,” Aragorn drawled mischievously. “I was wondering what that number was exactly.”

It seemed to grow quieter as Merry and Pippin had ceased their own conversation after overhearing Aragorn. Legolas glanced from Aragorn to Éla, curiosity among other emotions written on his face. 

_ “You should know Aragorn, that it is not polite to ask a lady such a question,” _ Éla chastised, feeling her cheeks grow warm from all the attention on her and the personal subject matter at hand. She blamed her friend's brazenness on his alcohol intake. After her first dinner with him she noticed he had a penchant for mischief when intoxicated. 

“I am only asking because I know we are such good friends,” Aragorn replied slyly.

_ “But I’m sure our present company would not be interested in such dull anecdotes _ ,” she evaded. 

“Oh not at all my lady!” Pippin chimed in, “I don’t think any story that you have to tell would be dull at all.”

“Aye, and I’m sure many men had gone to great lengths to catch the eye of a fair lady such as yourself,” Merry added.

Éla sighed and glanced at Legolas in almost a pleading manner, perhaps he would talk some sense into Aragorn. 

“It would be dishonest of me to say that I am not interested in the topic at hand,” the ellon stated, seemingly trying to hide the curious glint in his bright grey eyes.

_ “Very well,” _ Éla conceded.  _ “I would say there were roughly seventeen suitors that had tried to court me.” _

Aragorn’s brows raised in surprise. 

“Seventeen?” Merry echoed incredulously. 

Pippin’s eyes went wide. 

Legolas, who had taken a sip from his mug of mead made an uncharacteristically ungraceful choking sound as he nearly spat out his drink in alarm. 

“Manwë’s breath Éla,” Aragorn exclaimed. 

“How many unmarried men were there in your village?” Merry asked.

_ “Men? Why, they were not all of them men, Master Merry,” _ she replied with a smirk, as she took a sip of her mead.

“Oh, so did some dwarves and elven folk come to court you as well my lady?” Pippin inquired. 

Merry groaned, “No Pip that’s not what she meant,”

Legolas regarded Éla with disbelief. “You must hail from quite a populous region Lady Éla,”

_ “Hardly,” _ she responded with a dismissive wave,  _ “My village was actually quite small by most standards, at least from the occasional traveller who passed through.” _

“Then you were just that popular?” Aragorn asked with a wry smile. 

Éla rolled her eyes.  _ “I would not go so far as to say popular, peculiar and particular would be more accurate.” _

__ “So out of them all none of them were suitable for your family’s tastes?” Merry asked. 

_ “My mother allowed me to marry whomever I wished, the only requirement being that I loved them,”  _ Éla replied. 

“And you did not like even one?” asked Pippin.

Éla shrugged.  _ “None of them truly cared for me. None bothered to learn any sign language or learn about my interests or who I was as a person. There was always just loads of flowers left at my doorstep and unimaginably bad poetry in the mailbox.” _

__ The two hobbits and Aragorn snickered at Éla’s noticeable disdain for flowers and poetry.

Merry and Pippin glanced from Éla to the wine. 

“I take that to mean you have no interest in your wine my lady?” said Merry,

“Ah yes!” Pippin interjected. “I imagine you would not want to encourage such advances from that Gondor fellow. Would you perhaps be willing to part with it, in exchange for a dinner roll?” 

Éla smiled, “ _ Perhaps _ ,” she replied. 

“Well, I’ll raise you two dinner rolls,” Merry countered, sending Pippin a triumphant smirk. The younger hobbit looked down at his own plate in dismay, as it was empty, save for the one dinner roll he had already offered. 

Éla chuckled and slid the glass over to Merry, who deposited two dinner rolls onto her plate. He greedily clasped the stem of the wine glass before pouring its contents into his mouth. He chuckled into the beverage making a gross gurgling noise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you prefer mead, ale or wine? I've never tasted mead but I prefer wine over ale personally. Also, I really hope y'all caught the subtle My Chemical Romance reference I threw in there :)


	5. Why Can't We Be Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éla begins her training in magic and weapon use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a semi detailed description of a serious injury in this chapter, just a heads up 
> 
> As usual, italicized dialogue is Ela mouthing and/or using sign language unless stated otherwise

# Chapter 5: Why Can’t We Be Friends?

Two days after her dinner with Aragorn, Legolas, Merry and Pippin, Éla woke to Gandalf knocking on her door before dawn. 

She frowned sleepily at the old Wizard but allowed him into her quarters. 

“There is no time like the present to begin your studies,” he stated. 

_“What about breakfast?”_ she signed tiredly, her movements sluggish. 

“You seem to be spending too much time with the hobbits,” Gandalf grumbled under his breath. “We shall have a quick meal then it must be off to the library. I wish to arrive there before Lord Elrond’s attendants take up their positions. I intend to take out more books than is usually allowed,” he added, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. He made his way back to the door. 

“I will await your arrival in the dining hall,” he said before taking his leave. 

Éla dressed herself for the day, trying her best to wake herself up so as to not drag her feet to meet the Wizard. In truth she was nervous about her training. She had never studied anything more than the books that her mother owned, being too busy with tending their crops or buying and selling in the market in the next town over from her home.

Éla met Gandalf in the dining hall. They ate in a comfortable silence for a while. 

“ _Are there any more of us?”_ Éla asked, the movements of her sign still a bit slower than usual in her groggy state.

“Wizards?” Gandalf responded. “There were five of us originally. Saruman the White, Alatar and Pallando the Blue, myself, and Radagast the Brown.” 

Éla listened with rapt attention. 

“The Valar were called together by Manwë who all agreed to send emissaries to Middle-Earth to contend with the will of the Dark Lord Sauron. Oromë chose to send your father, and he brought along his friend Pallando. 

_“His friend? Were you not all brothers?”_ Éla asked. 

“We are brothers in our cause,” Gandalf replied. “And we were all close as blood brothers would be at one time…” he trailed off, his voice gaining a wistful note before he continued. “Saruman, the leader of our order, travelled with the Blue Wizards into the East many years ago, though Saruman was the only to return. At the time he had told me that they were separated.”

There was a long pause as Gandalf sighed heavily. 

“I regret to inform you that my order, our order has been betrayed.”

_“Betrayed?! By whom?”_ Éla asked, aghast at the new revelation. 

“Saruman has sided with the enemy. I was being held captive by him when I sought out his council after bringing you to Lord Elrond, and another grave matter,” he said darkly.

“He who was once the wisest and greatest of us all has fallen into madness for power.” Gandalf’s eyes seemed to stare right through Éla into the distance. He looked much older, frailer as he stared off into nothing. 

“ _That is why you have been gone so long?”_ the question was hesitant.

“Yes, forgive me for leaving you with such confusion in what must have been a very strange place at first.” Gandalf apologized. 

“It seems that there were many things that were hidden from me in the past age since I came to these shores. I fear that Saruman in his treachery may have withheld information of the whereabouts of your father and Pallando.”

_“What of this Radagast? Is he not still allied with you and the will of the Valar?”_

Surely they could not be alone. Is what she wanted to add, though she could not get herself to mouth or sign her true question, fearing the answer. 

“Radagast is still our ally, as it was through him I was able to escape captivity. Though I fear that Saruman may have learned of his sending aid for me and turned his ire toward him. Lord Elrond has assured me that scouts shall be sent to look for Radagast, though I believe we will not find any aid from him again for some time.”

Éla nodded, trying to absorb all of this new information. 

After the two had finished their breakfast, they made their way to a section of the house of Imladris that Éla was not familiar with. 

“This is one of Lord Elrond’s private libraries,” Gandalf explained at her puzzled expression. “I have been friends with the Lord of Imladris for quite some time, and he has been kind enough to grant me access to his private books.” He produced an intricately carved silver key, unlocking the great double oak doors to the library. 

The room was similar to the public library, though a bit smaller, dimly lit and filled with the scent of old parchment and dust. 

Gandalf made his way through the stacks, piling Éla’s arms full of heavy, leather-bound tomes. After being saddled with as many books she could possibly carry, Éla deposited them onto a table near the centre of the room. 

Gandalf joined Éla at the table, depositing an armful of scrolls.

_“Are we really going to read all of these?”_ she asked incredulously.

“Oh of course not!” Gandalf replied, “ _You_ are going to read all of these.” 

The volumes that Gandalf had selected ranged from simple potions and concoctions for mundane healing to powerful incantation in languages that had long fallen out of use. Under Gandalf’s guidance and with the help of her rudimentary knowledge of the elven languages Éla slowly made her way through the volumes. 

For days the two continued this routine. Éla and Gandalf would meet at dawn, eat breakfast then spend the rest of the morning in Lord Elrond's private libraries making their way through the mountain of parchment and books they had made on their initial visit. After a quick lunch, they would adjourn to the sitting room in Gandalf’s chambers and continue their lessons until they were interrupted by Bilbo for afternoon tea. 

As the massive pile of reading material dwindled, Éla found herself growing restless. 

_“When am I actually going to learn some magic?”_ she questioned. 

“You are learning magic.” Gandalf replied.

Éla’s fingers twitched in frustration before she responded. 

_“No I mean practical magic! When will I learn how to summon great gusts of wind or have animals do my bidding or shoot fire from my very fingertips!”_

“You will learn to cast such spells when you are able to control your own powers first.” 

_“We have not even done anything with my powers!”_

“Of course we have!” Gandalf harrumphed, taking out his pipe and lighting it. “You are using the power of your mind.” 

Éla resisted the urge to stamp her feet in frustration. 

As if sensing her growing ire Gandalf stood and went into the adjoining room. He returned with three white candles. He cleared off half of the table they had been reading at, and placed the candles equidistant from each other in a triangle formation. 

He removed the pipe from his mouth and blew a cloud of smoke out before he spoke.

“Since you are so eager to jump into the fray, light these candles,” he challenged before sitting back down in his seat. 

_“With what?”_ Éla asked. 

“With your magic.” Éla swore she saw the Wizard roll his eyes in response. 

She stared at the three candles, wracking her brain for anything she had read since they began their training regarding fire spells.

“Do not focus on creating fire, focus on exerting your will without the use of physical intervention. That is the root of what is an Istari’s ‘magic’. The extension of your will without physical means.”

Éla frowned, feeling like Gandalf’s advice was counter-intuitive, but complied nonetheless. She took a steadying breath and refocused on the wicks of the candles, imagining them lighting. 

A moment passed and nothing happened. 

Gandalf blew out another cloud of smoke out, this time in the shape of a bird. 

After an agonizingly long time, and no lit candles Éla sighed, throwing her hands up in defeat. 

_“What do I have to do to get it to work!”_ she exclaimed, the exasperation making her sign language look more like angry flailing. 

“First, you must connect with your own energy within,” he explained, setting his pipe aside and taking in a deep controlled breath. “Then, you must know what you want to do. I wish to light this candle. I want to bring forth light from nothing.”

Gandalf faced the candles. 

Éla watched him intently, glancing back from his face to the candles, waiting for something to happen. There was a flash in Gandalf’s eyes, simultaneously, all three candles lit up. 

She stared in amazement. 

“You need to have the correct command in mind,” he explained. “I had the slightest inkling you were merely chanting fire in your mind when you were staring at the candles.”

Éla shifted uncomfortably as he was right. 

“I thought as much,” Gandalf chuckled. “Though a candle is lit with flame, the connotation of fire is more wild than that of a candle. Instead of focusing on just bringing forth fire, the key is to bring forth light, as candles bring light, not just fire necessarily.”

Éla nodded, beginning to understand the nuance. 

Gandalf extinguished the candles.

“Try again, this time focusing on creating light instead of fire. And remember, to first get in touch with the source of your magic.”

There was an undercurrent to Gandalf’s tone that led Éla to believe that he was gesturing to something that she already knew. Though to her annoyance she could not seem to figure out the hidden clue he was trying to give her. She appreciated that he thought of her as intelligent enough to figure out the puzzle herself, but she also wished that he would just be more straightforward with his instructions every now and then.

Éla refocused herself, staring intently at one of the candles. She was aiming to ignite at least one of them. She looked at the candle on the right of the triangle that Gandalf had made, envisioning its wick being ignited. 

She focused in her mind on bringing forth light, as opposed to a flame. After a few moments, Éla saw a small plume of smoke begin to rise, and the candle’s wax began to soften and melt. 

Though to her dismay the smoke was coming for the spot on the table right next to the candle she was intent on lighting, and not the candle itself.

“Stop!” Gandalf called out standing up suddenly, patting at the space on the table that was close to igniting. 

_“I cannot see why it isn’t working!”_ Éla signed exasperatedly. “ _I did everything that you said.”_

“I doubt that,” Gandalf replied flatly. 

_“I was envisioning bringing light instead of a flame, and was focused on one candle instead of all three. I do not see where I went wrong,”_ she insisted. 

“No, indeed you do not,” Gandalf said looking at Éla intently. “My very first instruction was to connect with your own energy from within. The source of your powers.” 

“ _I was focused,_ ” Éla protested. 

“You were focused on the task, but not on what was going to give you the means to complete the task. Do you even know where your energy comes from?” At the latter questions Gandalf ran a hand over his face. 

Éla’s shoulders shrugged. It was glaringly clear that she did not have a grasp on the fundamentals of magic as she thought she had. 

_“I do not know,”_ she admitted sheepishly, refusing to meet the elder’s eyes. 

“Your energy comes from your being, sustained through your body,” Gandalf explained. “If you use too much of your magic and, in turn your energy, your body will become exhausted. The exertion of your will over elements and objects; what is deemed as ‘magic’ is fuelled by the energy of your body and mind. For you in particular, a majority of your energy lies within the crystal around your neck.”

Éla fished the pendant out from under her robes, examining the crystal. The once translucent gem gave off a faint golden glow. 

“If you would like, we may begin some guided practice to help you access your energy through your crystal,” Gandalf stated. At Éla’s widening eyes, Gandalf continued, “But _only_ after you have completed your assigned readings for the day. I would suggest starting with this reading about how Wizards focus our energies through our staffs.” He selected a tome from the stack of unread books and placed it in front of her. 

“ _Why not start with a reading on crystals? Don’t you have one, Gandalf?_ ”

“Well yes, though I bear mine at the end of my staff. But it is unlike in nature to yours, as it is merely a conduit for my energy, whereas for you it is both that and your source. At least that is what my instinct tells me,” he replied.

“ _My source?_ ” she frowned. Her pendant began to pulse faintly with warmth as she considered it.

“You must have many questions. Perhaps the answers will come to you in time, once you have completed your readings. I will leave you to it,” he said, inclining his head to Éla before turning on his heel and walking from the room.

Éla’s shoulders slumped in defeat. As much as she was annoyed at the Wizard’s wayward speech and teaching style, she knew he was right.

She sat back down at her table and stared at the leather-bound tome, grimacing at its thickness. She opened it and began to read the first page, committing herself to finishing it. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


Éla studied her reflection in the mirror before her, feeling as though the person staring back at her were a stranger. The grey dress was sturdier and shorter than what Éla was used to, with no embellishments. Gone were the flowing bell sleeves and trains of the usual gowns she wore at Imladris. Though she felt odd in the more practical and casual garb, Éla was relieved that she did not have to don her father’s blue robes for her training. She had not worn them for some time since she arrived at Imladris. The once-comforting hand-me-downs were now imbued with the responsibilities of an Istari. A title and role that Éla did not feel that she was fit for nor deserved. 

Once dressed with her hair braided back away from her face, Éla ate a quick breakfast alone in the dining hall before making her way to the training ground that Aragorn had shown her earlier. Aragorn was already there, bow in hand firing at the targets that were posted up against the trunks of trees a fair distance away. To his right she spotted Legolas, who was also practicing his aim. 

Éla was not as chagrined to see the ellon as their past few interactions had been favourable, although she felt a little more nervous about her upcoming training session as she had heard tell of Legolas being a famous marksman. She was under the impression that she was only going to be training with Aragorn.

She made her way into Aragorn’s peripheral vision, keeping a wide enough berth that should there be any mishaps she would not be on the receiving end of an arrow. Aragorn met her gaze and he smiled, lowering the arrow he had nocked and walking over to her. 

“Good morning,” he said with a small smile and bow of his head. “I trust you have already had your morning meal.”

Éla nodded, returning the Ranger’s smile. She was glad to see him in higher spirits the past few weeks. 

After firing a few more arrows, Legolas also made his way over to where Aragorn and Éla stood. He gave Éla a polite nod in greeting.

“Good morning Lady Éla.”

 _“Good morning Master Legolas,”_ she responded. 

“It seems our friend has failed to mention that you would be gracing our training session this morning with your presence,” the ellon said, a hint of jest in his tone as he glanced at the Ranger. 

“Ah you must forgive my feeble mortal faculties,” Aragorn responded sarcastically. 

_“You_ have _been taking to the mead and ale quite frequently as of late,”_ Éla chided, though the grin she wore showed Aragorn that she meant no ill by her statement.

“You are beginning to sound like Legolas now Éla, perhaps he should be the one to show you your way around a bow.”

“All the better,” Legolas replied haughtily. “The lady would do well to learn from one who can hit the center ring of a target.”

Aragorn glared at Legolas who merely raised a brow in challenge. 

Éla covered her mouth with her hand to suppress the grin on her face. This was the first time that Legolas had bantered with the ranger at least for her to witness. 

Aragorn barked a laugh.

“In all seriousness I think it would be best for Éla to take note from such an expert as you, my friend,” Aragorn said sincerely, giving Legolas a hearty clap on the shoulder.

Legolas seemed to shy away from the sincere praise, turning to Éla.

“It would be my pleasure my lady. Have you any experience with a bow?” 

Éla shook her head. 

“Well, then allow me to demonstrate the basics,” he offered.

After learning how to string and hold the bow in hand and to sling it over her back. Legolas showed Éla how to wear her quiver of arrows in a way that was complementary to her natural posture and dominant hand and foot. 

Finally, after learning the ins and outs of the bow and arrow, she was permitted to shoot. 

“Keep both eyes open,” Legolas instructed. And use your core and back to stabilize yourself.” 

Éla had underestimated how hard it would be to simply pull back the taut string of the bow. She could feel her biceps trembling as she grit her teeth and struggled to pull further back. 

“Your arms are trembling because you are relying on them too heavily,” Legolas chastised, beside Éla and demonstrating with his own bow the correct form. “Pull with your back, you should feel your shoulder blades squeezing together. And your leading arm should be in line with the one holding the arrow. As straight as possible through your shoulders.”

“Remember to breathe, and do not hold your breath—your muscles need their air to work,” Aragorn interjected. 

Éla pulled the bowstring as far as she could, making sure her upper body was forming as straight a line as possible with her arms and shoulders, she felt her abdominal muscles clench in exertion to hold to posture. 

She became acutely aware of the energy simmering beneath the surface of her skin. Similarly to when she was training with Gandalf, she felt a slight warmth against her skin from the crystal. The waves of energy emitting from the pendant flowed through her entire body, making her fingertips tingle, energy building up similar to static. 

Éla made a conscious effort to not concentrate too much of the building energy within her, not wanting a repeat of the incident of nearly setting the table on fire when she intended to light the candle.

After another steadying breath, she relaxed her fingers. 

The arrow landed with a _thunk_ into the tree trunk ahead of her, though so low that it did not even hit the outermost ring of the target. 

Éla felt her shoulders slump with disappointment.

“A fair first shot,” Aragorn said comfortingly. 

“Aye,” Legolas added, noticing the slight pout on Éla’s face.

“Next time,” he continued. “Make sure to keep your back tall and your hips in line with your guiding arm.”

Éla resumed the firing position, nocking another arrow to the bowstring. 

After a couple more attempts under the guidance of Legolas and Aragorn, Éla was still not making much improvement in her aim. Disappointed, she dropped her arms and rolled her shoulders back to loosen her tired and aching muscles. She assumed the firing stance again and prepared to draw the next arrow.

Legolas clicked his tongue and muttered something under his breath in Sindarin. 

“If I may,” he said, before coming behind Éla, placing his hands on her hips to shift her into the correct form. 

“This should help take some of the strain off of your arms,” he said, his voice right next to her ear.

Éla could feel her heartbeat in her throat. She was sure that the ellon could hear it as well with how close he was. 

His chest brushed against her back, the warmth of his hands on her hips made it hard for her to focus on her firing form. She repressed the urge to shiver at the close proximity. 

Legolas took a step back to give her room to shoot. Éla allowed herself to breath once again.

The words of Gandalf rang in her mind. _Connect with your source._ She took a deep breath.

This time, feeling a familiar warmth emanating from her pendant, she tried to coax more energy into her upper body, hoping to stabilize her shaky, tired muscles.

She let loose the arrow that was drawn back against her bowstring. There was a loud _thwang_ as the bow snapped back into its resting position. The arrow sliced through the air, catching the sun’s light as it blazed to the target, embedding itself in the second most inner ring. 

The faintest trail of smoke billowed from the arrow.

Éla’s eyes widened in alarm. The memories of her attempting to light candle after candle in her training with Gandalf flooded into her mind. She glanced over at Legolas and Aragorn, gauging their reactions to see if they noticed the smoldering arrow.

Aragorn looked nonplussed as he sharpened the tip of one of his own arrows. 

But Legolas; his gaze was locked onto Éla, his once inviting grey eyes flashing a familiarly suspicious silver.

She fumbled with the bow in her hands, setting it down among the supplies that Aragorn had brought for her before hastily signing as she mouthed. 

“ _Well I believe that is enough training for me today, and I just remembered I have somewhere to be. Please excuse me,”_ she said, with a smile that was just a touch too wide.

As Éla made a hasty retreat back into the halls of Imladris, Legolas eyed Aragorn warily. 

“Did you see that?” he asked his friend, slipping into his Eryn Galen dialect of Sindarin.

“Of course my friend,” Aragorn replied fluently. “She hit the target this time.”

* * *

Éla looked upon her finished product, admiring the needlework on the latest handkerchief she had embroidered. It was a light shade of green, with a bow and arrow stitched into the corners and the name of her potential friend in his mother tongue. She had wanted to wrap the small gift like she had for her other friends but could not get her hands on any more packaging paper. She folded it neatly and put it in her pocket instead.

With a quick glance at herself in the mirror, Éla made her way to the training ground she knew Aragorn and Legolas used every morning. After a week of avoiding the training sessions with the two after the flaming arrow incident, Éla felt that enough time had passed for the situation to be put out of their minds. 

The sun was still rising in the early autumn sky. A slight chill ran down Éla's spine, though she also knew it was from the nervous energy that was bouncing around within her. 

She and the ellon were not exactly friends yet as they had only ever spoken the few times; when they met in the garden, the dinners she had with him and Aragorn and the surprisingly pleasant Sindarin lesson in the library. Due to the more recent of their encounters being less strained and no longer bordering on interrogations on Legolas’ part, Éla took it upon herself to make the first step and gift Legolas the kerchief in a gesture of friendship.

Legolas was already at the training grounds, engrossed in pinning the bullseye of the target with as many of his arrows as possible. Éla took a moment to observe him—she told herself it was to study his form, but she also just could not help but stare with the way the morning light radiated off him. His sharp jaw was clenched in concentration, his platinum locks were as immaculately braided as usual, and the green of his tunic, though worn and faded, showcased his lean arms and torso as he held the bow and arrow in the firing position. 

He let the arrow loose.

Éla could hear the whiz as it sliced through the air, landing next to an identical arrow in the middle of the target. Legolas then relaxed his posture, turning to face the white haired woman standing behind him.

Éla smiled and nodded her head in greeting, her amber eyes locking with Legolas’ cool grey. His gaze was harsh, but she assumed it was an aftereffect of the intense concentration.

"I have been hoping to speak with you, Lady Éla," Legolas said, slinging his bow across his back and walking toward the young woman.

 _“Yes?”_ she tilted her head in question, she was glad that she was not disturbing the ellon.

He advanced, saying, "I find it quite strange that I have never heard of you or your village in my home, as we both hail from neighbouring regions, and Mithrandir had never mentioned you previously." 

Unease crept into Éla's chest as the ellon took another step forward. The harsh look in his eyes did not yet register as intimidating. 

_"I had never heard of or met him before I came to Imladris,"_ she agreed.

"Strange indeed. Nearly everyone in the realm knows of the Grey Wizard," he continued, before taking another step forward. 

Éla took a step back as she was beginning to feel cornered. Her back met the cold stone of a column behind her, she braced her left hand on to it supporting her weight. 

"I know you are a spy," Legolas hissed, leaning forward to gaze into her eyes, which were now wide in alarm. 

"It is much too convenient that you, an Easterling, who happens to be a wielder of magic arrives at the time of a secret council. And even more convenient that you cannot speak and tell us who and where you hail from." 

_"I am no spy!"_ Éla mouthed. She could feel her pulse in her temples, the thrumming only spurring on her rising panic.

With his heightened sense of hearing and their close proximity, the ellon heard the spike in her heart rate. He construed it as an admission of her guilt.

"Speak!" He commanded. "You may have beguiled the eye of Lord Elrond and his kin, but I see through your deception!" 

He reached for her left wrist and gripped it harshly.

"I command that you speak! Tell me what master you serve and what are their intentions of Aragorn!?" 

Éla tried to wrench her wrist from the harsh grip of the ellon’s hand, but to no avail. Legolas’ grip only intensified, causing her face to contort in pain as she felt her wrist snap beneath the ellon’s hand. Wordless screams contorted her face into agony as tears began to flow from her eyes. 

It was here that Legolas had known he had made a mistake. He had not intended to break any of the woman's bones, he had only wanted to bruise her wrist enough for her to drop the facade of being mute. 

But after the sickening crunch of her delicate bones under his hands, he heard it. Her sharp intake of breath as she felt her wrist bones collapse. The strain of her vocal cords as she fought, and failed, to make a noise.

His stomach dropped. 

He had been wrong. And he had injured an innocent woman.

Legolas' grip loosened in shock, just enough for Éla to wrench herself free. She turned and ran blindly in the vague direction of her room, clutching her injured wrist to her body. 

Legolas looked at her retreating form, confusion and doubt swirling on his mind. He had been sure that she was a spy, that she was false, and that when pressed she would make a noise and prove her deception. The agonized look on her beautiful face was burned into his mind, and guilt and shame flooded his body.

As he lowered his eyes he spotted a piece of cloth that Éla must have dropped when he had grabbed her hand. He picked it up and examined the pale green handkerchief. The embroidered bow and arrow resembled his own, and in one corner his name was stitched onto it in Sindarin script. 

* * *

  
  


Three days after the incident with Legolas, Arwen and Aragorn became concerned for Éla, who had shut herself inside her room. 

"Éla you must let us in, at least so that we may know you are well," Aragorn pleaded through her bedroom door.

She relented, opening the door to the concerned faces of Arwen and Aragorn. 

Arwen gasped at the crudely wrapped wrist Éla was sporting and immediately went to reach for it, which Éla swiftly dodged by turning away and cradling her injured arm closer to her body. It was red and swollen at the forearm and wobbled sickeningly at the motion.

“Éla! Why did you not tell us you were injured?” Arwen asked. 

Éla fought the urge to shrink away from the hurt in Arwen’s usually serene voice. She returned to the edge of her bed, instinctively keeping her injury on the far side of her body. 

Arwen moved to sit on the bed beside her, while Aragorn pulled up a chair to sit in front. 

“Please allow me to at least see it,” Arwen reasoned. 

Éla hesitated a moment, glancing between Arwen’s pained expression to Aragorn’s concerned one, before slowly turning to allow the elleth access to her injured wrist. 

Arwen gently undid the crude binding, her brows furrowing further once Éla’s swollen flesh was revealed. 

Aragorn grunted at the grisly sight.

“Éla your wrist is shattered,” Arwen whispered, her eyes roving over the inflamed flesh. “Let me get my father, he needs to see to this.”

Éla shook her head frantically.

“ _No!”_ she mouthed in protest.

“Éla, this is no mere scrape. If it is not seen to soon, the bone may not heal properly, if at all,” Aragorn stated solemnly. 

Éla shook her head once more. 

“ _Please, I do not wish to cause any trouble for Lord Elrond.”_

“You would not be a burden,” Arwen insisted. 

Éla gave Arwen a pleading glance.

The elleth sighed, relenting.

“Very well, we will not inform my father if that is truly what you wish.”

“ _It is,”_ Éla nodded..

Arwen shared a glance with Aragorn, his concerned expression mirroring the elleth’s. 

“In any case,” the Ranger spoke, “how is it that you came by this injury? A break this severe tells me that it was no mere accident.” 

There was a beat of silence before he pressed on.

“Who did this to you?”

Éla shifted uncomfortably under the concerned gazes of her closest friends. 

_“Oh, that matter is of little importance – I will just avoid them.”_ Éla’s eyes and shaky hands betrayed the panic she was trying to hide behind a brave face. _“And in any case, I do not wish to cause any more trouble for Lord Elrond, he has been kind enough to me by allowing me to stay in Imladris. So can we please figure out how we will fix my wrist without everyone finding out?”_

Arwen and Aragorn shared another concerned look.

“Very well,” Arwen replied. “I understand that you do not want my father to know of the condition of your wrist, lest it draw unwanted attention. Still, I would have one of my kindred treat and set your wound properly, if you are willing. I know of a few that I would trust to look after you without informing anyone of their activities.”

Éla nodded in approval.

“Thank you, Éla. Now be still. I will fetch them once I have finished rewrapping your wrist.”

Aragorn stood, pacing and mumbling under his breath.

“I assume that Gandalf does not know of your injury?”

Éla shook her head no.

“I see. As you know, Gandalf has been busy in the past week and I expect that he will continue to be in the coming ones. If you wish to keep this from his knowledge, I will do what I can do to aid you.”

Éla nodded gratefully.

Arwen firmly tugged at the knot she had tied as she finished binding Éla’s wrist, eliciting a grimace from the woman.

“I hope you know that whoever it is, Aragorn and I will be on your side. We care for you deeply and will do our best to protect you,” Arwen reassured. The elleth looked over to Aragorn, who nodded tenderly in agreement.

Éla started to cry, her already faltering put-together demeanor coming loose at the kindness of her friends. 

“ _Thank you,_ ” she mouthed through the tears.

After Éla had calmed down some, Arwen spoke.

“If it is alright, I will leave you here with Aragorn to fetch somebody to properly treat your injury.”

“ _Yes,_ ” Éla replied. “ _Thank you._ ”

Arwen smiled and gave Éla’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before leaving the room.

“Is it painful?” Aragorn asked, once they were alone.

“ _It was very painful, at first. Though it is quite numb now._ ”

Aragorn grimaced. 

“I hope you know that Arwen and I consider you to be a good friend. You are kind and true to your word. We just want you to feel safe and comfortable here.”

Éla nodded once more, studying the embroidery on the bedcover she sat on. 

“You have missed out on quite a few hobbit antics these past few days,” Aragorn began, turning Éla’s attention back to him. “Just the other night, Merry and Pippin were singing and dancing on top of the long tables after having a few pints too many to drink. They were leading the men and dwarves in a mighty chorus. You should have seen Legolas’ face when even some of his kindred joined–”

He trailed off, noticing the flinch on Éla’s face when he mentioned Legolas’ name. Even more apparent was the smile that Éla had plastered on when she realized that she had done that. Aragorn’s face became serious, a sinking feeling in his gut.

“Éla. Is there something you need to tell me? About Legolas?” he asked.

She refused to meet his eyes.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Aragorn all but stormed into the room of his friend, who was sitting in a chair by the window absently sharpening his hunting knife.

"You had no right!" The Ranger snarled, the Sindarin tumbling from his lips in a rush of emotion.

Legolas turned his head slowly. He was expecting the Dunedain would confront him at some point, though he was mildly surprised it had taken so long. He sheathed the knife and stored the whetstone away in its leather case before standing to address the infuriated Ranger.

“What reason did you have to do such a thing to an innocent woman? Have you gone mad?!” Aragorn exclaimed.

Legolas remained silent, unable to meet the gaze of his infuriated friend. 

“Have you nothing to say for yourself?” The ranger demanded. 

Legolas heaved a sigh, 

“You are right, there is nothing I can say to justify what I have done.”

Aragorn stopped short of the rant he was going to begin at the sincere tone of remorse in the ellon’s voice. 

A moment of silence stretched between them, before Aragorn simply asked a whispered

“Why?”

Legolas finally met Aragorn’s gaze when he replied.

“I was paranoid. I had thought that Lady Éla was a spy of the Enemy, thinking it too convenient for her to arrive at Imladris at the time of the council, become so quickly acquainted with you, all the while no one knowing who she really was or her purpose here. My hand in the loss of the creature Gollum has also made me more… on edge as of late. It weighs on my mind heavily, the consequences of my failure.” He explained.

Aragorn nodded. 

He understood the gravity of the rising threat of Mordor and the secrecy of the council, but he still could not reconcile why Legolas had to resort to violence with Éla.

“I understand your reasons for being cautious but at the very least, but Éla is my friend. I trust her. If this was truly your worry, why did you not first consult me?” he asked.

Legolas shifted uncomfortably in his seat before responding. 

“The shadow in the East is rising. I had feared you and the others to be compromised.”

Aragorn narrowed his eyes feeling some of his original ire returning. He knew that Legolas was afraid and rightfully so, but he could not overlook the slight in assuming he and those in the house of Lord Elrond to be so easily swayed by a hypothetical spy. 

That, and of course the matter of Éla’s treatment at the hands of Legolas.

Aragorn opened his mouth to retort, but stopped short when out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted a familiar-looking handkerchief sitting on Legolas’ desk. 

He picked it up and sadly examined Legolas’ name embroidered in the flowing script of Sindarin.

“Éla made these handkerchiefs as tokens of friendship for those in Imladris that she liked and wanted to be closer with. Only you, Bilbo, Arwen, and I are among those that received one. Have you any idea how you will make your amends?” Aragorn asked, not out of concern about Legolas but out of service to Éla.

Legolas was speechless. There was nothing more that he could say.

Aragorn regarded Legolas sadly, his anger dulling to cold disappointment. Dropping his gaze from Legolas, Aragorn put back the handkerchief and left the room without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but I hope this chapter was worth it, please let me know your thoughts in the comments :)


	6. Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The council of the free races is assembled, secrets are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> italicized dialogue is Ela mouthing and/or using sign language
> 
> bold and italicized text is used to denote telepathic communication

Éla smiled triumphantly as she was able to light three candles in a row during her training session with Gandalf.

“It seems you have quite an affinity for fire magic,” he stated with a small smile. 

_ “I feel as though that makes sense, given that my homeland is much warmer than the West,” _ she signed. 

“Ah, telepathy.” Gandalf chided her. 

Éla nodded.

**_Sorry, it’s still hard for me to remember._ **

“I want it to become as natural to you as sign, if anything more so, so that you would be able to communicate to most people without having to rely on an interpreter.”

**_I agree, though I feel that fewer people would want to be around me if I were to use my telepathy with them. They’d think that I can read their minds_ ** _ , _ Éla replied sullenly.

“Well, then you’ll just have to show them that you cannot read their minds,” Gandalf stated matter-of-factly.

“This afternoon there will be a meeting held. A council of the free races of Middle Earth. I will be in attendance and I have Lord Elrond’s leave for you to attend as well.”

Éla gaped at her uncle. 

This seemed like a very large honour and responsibility and she wasn’t sure if she were up to the task.

**_I do not know if I am ready for such an important meeting_ ** **.**

Gandalf frowned. 

“It is not a matter of being ready or not -- it is your duty as an Istari. We were sent by the Valar to aid in Middle Earth’s fight against the enemy. You have inherited this responsibility through your father.” His expression softened as he continued, “Though I have the utmost faith in your abilities.”

Éla nodded, knowing that she did not have much of a choice in the matter.

The council of the free races had been called together. 

Éla sat nervously beside Gandalf, feeling much too small in her father's blue robes. Sitting in a large circle around a central podium in one of the more secluded courtyards of Imladris were representatives of the companies of Men, Dwarves and Elves that Éla had seen from her stay in Lord Elrond’s house. 

The group of elves from the Woodland realm sat to her left, clad in robes of green, grey and silver. The one who stood out among them was Legolas.

He wore a fine silver tunic that made his eyes gleam brighter in the afternoon sun, his almost platinum blond hair further setting him apart from his darker-haired kinsmen, along with the silver circlet he wore atop his head. 

Éla noted the piece of jewelry as it reminded her of the one that Lord Elrond sometimes wore. She thought back to Arwen’s use of ‘Lord’ in reference to the ellon. Evidently Legolas was the leader of his kinsmen, at least for this council. 

Éla locked eyes with Legolas by accident. 

He paled upon meeting her eyes, and immediately diverted his gaze. 

Éla turned and looked to the opposite end of the courtyard where on the right of the circle of delegates, sat Aragorn. 

Even from where she sat, Éla could see that her friend was uncomfortable. 

The tunic that he wore was nicer than his usual worn, grey one, and it looked stiff in the collar. He was sitting with his back straight with tension. 

They locked eyes and Éla tried to send her friend a comforting smile. The ranger’s lips twitched upwards a bit as he nodded back at her. 

Finally, after all were assembled, Lord Elrond entered the meeting with Arwen. Both were dressed in grey and royal blue robes with matching circlets of silver atop their heads.

Arwen gently brushed her hand over Éla’s shoulder as she passed, offering her friend a small reassuring smile. They took their places at the head of the circle. To Lord Elrond’s right sat Arwen, and to his left sat Gandalf, then Éla. Next to Éla in a single, tiny chair was Frodo. 

The dark haired hobbit inclined his head politely to Éla as he smoothed his waistcoat down. She could practically feel the waves of nervousness coming off the hobbit. She felt comforted that she wasn’t the only one who felt out of her depth at the moment. 

Lord Elrond stood and addressed the assembly.

“Friends of old and travelers from distant lands, you have all been summoned to this council of the free races to answer the growing threat that rises in Mordor.”

Éla inhaled sharply at the mention of such a cursed place, a tingle of energy zipped up her spine, tensing her muscles as her adrenaline spiked. She felt Gandalf place a comforting hand over her own as she gripped the armrest of her chair.

The Lord of Imladris continued, “Our world faces destruction which none can escape. We must unite or fall. We are all bound to this one doom.” he intoned gravely. 

The air was heavy with tension. 

Éla fought the urge to squirm in her seat. 

Lord Elrond looked over to Frodo. 

“Bring forth The Ring, Frodo.” he said, gesturing over to the stone podium in the middle of the council circle. 

The hobbit slowly made his way over, fishing out a small gold ring from his coat pocket and placed it on the podium.

Murmurs erupted in the crowd.

Éla felt Gandalf stiffen beside her in his chair, his hand moving from hers to grip his staff in two hands.

Frodo made his way back to his seat and exhaled as though he had unloaded a great burden from his shoulders. 

The entirety of the council’s eyes were glued onto The Ring, though Éla found she could not bring herself to look at it. The sinister magic that rolled off it in waves made her stomach churn. She feared that if she laid eyes on it she would stand up and run, or throw up. The crystal pendant around her neck grew heavy, the usually imperceptible hum of its magic began to buzz at the back of Éla’s mind.

A man stood from his company, Éla recognized him as the Gondorian who had sent her a glass of wine at dinner that one time. 

“It is a gift,” the sandy haired man said. “Why could we not use this ring against the Enemy? If it were in the hands of Gondor, we could match Mordor’s might right at its border.”

A sharp voice cut through the tense silence after the man’s speech.

“None can wield it, The Ring answers to Sauron alone. It will have no other master.” It was Aragorn. 

The Gondorian turned to Aragorn. “What would a  _ ranger _ know of this matter?” he sneered.

Éla began to stand to defend her friend but was beat to it by Legolas. 

“He is no mere ranger,” the ellon stated. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor.”

All eyes made their way to the ranger, who looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. 

“This, is Isildur’s heir?” The blond man questioned. 

“You owe him your allegiance,” Legolas affirmed.

“Sit down Legolas,” Aragorn asked, speaking in Sindarin so as to not embarrass him in front of the men and dwarves present. 

Legolas glared at the Gondorian man before sitting back in his seat. 

The blond man gave another glare to Aragorn before doing the same. 

“There has not been a king in Gondor for decades, and there is no need for one now,” he muttered sourly.

Once the man was back in his seat, Gandalf spoke up. 

“Aragorn is right. The Ring cannot be used by any of us.”

Lord Elrond stood once more, and addressed the council.

“Then there is only one choice, The Ring must be destroyed.”

“Then what is all this sitting and waiting for? Let us be done with this!” A red haired and bearded dwarf exclaimed before charging at The Ring, axe in hand, bringing it down with a terrible crash. 

Éla’s stomach lurched when the axe made impact on The Ring. The dwarf’s axe shattered in pieces, the Ring unaffected. 

A wave of energy pulsed from The Ring, causing everyone in the council to shift in their seats. Éla noticed Frodo clutch his head out of the corner of her eye. 

The crystal that rested against her lower neck grew uncomfortably warm, the buzzing of its power growing louder in the back of Éla’s mind.

“The Ring cannot be destroyed by mere force, Gimli, son of Gloin,” Elrond said to the dwarf who was thrown onto his back by the impact of the exploding axe on The Ring. “It was made in the fires of Mount Doom, and only there can it be destroyed forever.”

Lord Elrond looked out into the gathered assembly as he stated,

“One of you must do this.”

All was silent. 

The blond Gondorian spoke once more. 

“It is folly. You cannot simply walk into Mordor. It is guarded by many evils. Some which never sleep. The Great Eye is always watchful, the land is barren and the air is poisonous. Not with ten thousand men could this be done.”

“Have you not understood the gravity of this quest?” Legolas questioned, facing the man. “Lord Elrond is right, The Ring must be destroyed.”

“And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it!” said Gimli, the red haired dwarf, in a mocking tone. “I would rather  _ die  _ than have The Ring fall into the hands of an elf!”

Legolas stepped up to the dwarf, glaring down at him. 

The council erupted into chaos. 

The Woodland elves were bickering with the dwarves present. The Gondorian delegation jumped into the fray. Gandalf stood and faced the blond lord of Gondor beginning to argue with him. The entire assembly, save Éla, Arwen, Lord Elrond, and Frodo were on their feet in various shouting matches and holding their respective kinsmen back from beginning a brawl. 

A voice to Éla’s left piped up.

“I will do it.” 

It was Frodo.

“I will take The Ring to Mordor!’ he cried, over the din.

Éla saw her uncle’s shoulders slump as she knew he heard the young hobbit. The Grey Wizard turned to face the hobbit.

“I will take The Ring to Mordor,” he repeated. “Though I do not know the way.”

The entire council grew silent, all eyes now on the small hobbit. 

Gandalf stood next to the hobbit and placed his hand on his shoulder. “I shall help you bear this burden Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear.” he stated.

Éla felt her heart clench at the thought of losing her sole family member and mentor. 

“If by my life or death I can protect you, so be it. You have my sword.” Aragorn said pledging himself. The Ranger was then followed by Legolas who offered his bow in service to the quest. 

Gimli pledged his axe as well, though somewhat grudgingly as he glared at Legolas as they stood side by side near Frodo.

The blond haired leader of the company from Gondor stood. “If this is the will of the council then it shall come to pass, I shall accompany you little one, as you carry the fate of us all.” he said, addressing Frodo.

Éla felt the crystal against her skin begin to burn. She stood, placing her hand on her heart before mouthing and signing.

“ _ I will go _ .”

Frodo's eyes locked with hers and he nodded, bowing his head. 

"I would be honored my lady," he replied graciously. 

There was murmuring amongst the crowd.

Gimli's voice was the first to speak up.

"With all due respect,  _ Lady _ , this mission is no place for a human woman," he grumbled.

Éla's lips were pursed shut in anger as she took a steadying breath. A wave of energy from the crystal that she was sure was burning her skin pulsed through her. She took a moment to concentrate in order to project her voice in all of the minds of those present.

**_I am no mere mortal woman, Gimli, son of Gloin._ **

Aragorn clutched the side of his head as he heard an unfamiliar voice ring through his mind. It wasn’t his first time experiencing telepathy, but it was certainly a more potent strain than what he was accustomed to. 

He gave a bewildered glance to Éla, the woman’s white hair and blue robes billowing around her ominously along with the waves of magic. Her usually amber coloured eyes flashed a brilliant gold colour, illuminating her brown skin to a bright bronze. Her eyes were so bright that Aragorn found he could not look at them directly. He looked away, shielding his eyes from the intensity that threatened to become overwhelming.

There was a release of energy in the air as the bright light of Éla’s eyes rapidly dimmed. When Aragorn managed to look again, Gandalf had put his steadying hand on Éla’s shoulder. Éla took a small step backwards as the harsh light from her eyes receded entirely. He could see the alarm in their now amber depths.

Silence had swept over the crowd. Elves, men, and dwarves alike regarded Éla with fear, wariness, and in some, a hint of awe.

Gandalf took a step forward, partially shielding Éla from the rest of the council. Gandalf raised his arms when he spoke, using his robes to further obscure his ward and draw the attention off of her.

"As Éla has made it clear to you all, she is more than capable of going on this quest. She is the daughter of Alatar Morinehtar the Blue, and she is my niece and apprentice. I will vouch for her capabilities," he stated grandly. He and Elrond then shared a glance, though to what meaning Aragorn was unsure. 

Aragorn noted the slight flinch Éla made once her official title was announced. The ranger sympathized greatly, as only a short while ago he was also the centre of unwanted attention. 

Murmurs arose among the crowd.

“How do we know we can trust her?” one voice called out. “Is it not said that the blue wizards abandoned their charge?”

Murmurs of agreement washed over the crowd, the growing discomfort making the air tense. 

They were silenced by Lord Elrond’s authoritative voice. 

“Need I remind you all that our true enemy is Sauron and those that ally themselves with him. Bickering amongst ourselves only furthers his purpose. Lady Éla is a guest of my house and a trusted ally. I will not have her or her kin slandered in my home.”

Éla steeled herself and tried not to shrink under the shocked gazes that were fixed upon her, keeping her head held high and shoulders straight. The one stare that made her the most uncomfortable was the one of a certain fair-haired, grey-eyed elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient with my updates, I promise you I won't just disappear and I read all your comments! I appreciate them as well as your kudos so much! I have many more chapters planned out so please stay tuned :)

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a comment and let me know your thoughts :)


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